


Monster Manhunt

by The3ookNook



Category: Monster Manhunt Tales, Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Instincts, Bad Touch, Blood, Body Modification, Body Worship, Drama, Fights, Future Fic, Illnesses, Literal love triangle, Monsters, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Nonbinary Character, Sex, Touch-Starved, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Love, possible dysphoria trigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The3ookNook/pseuds/The3ookNook
Summary: Veran Oberlin runs a tight ship and Oz knows -- they helped him start it. Monsters say high school relationships never last, but Oz's role as his advisor is more than that. In their twisted world, Veran's "businesses" make them notorious. They've just about damned all the competition, so deciding to move to Hell was pretty apt. Damien LaVey, their closest friend, opened his arms and his ring of Hell to them eagerly. Forming a terrifying Triumvirate, the three expanded his kingdom. The only thing more hellish than their personalities is their empire.But when Oz's body begins to change, they find themselves leaving their sinful paradise for answers. They didn't exactly leave a note of absence from their life of crime and despotism. Oz's relationship with Veran and Damien is formal, no more no less, and built on strength. They're pretty sure two of the most dominating people in existence won't appreciate hearing Oz is getting weaker by the day. They definitely won't like hearing that Oz has run away. It's a race against the clock, the illness growing inside them and the two strongest people to rule Hell. If Oz is caught, the repercussions will be dire, and it's not like they're working at 100% either.





	1. Aaravi The Taxidermist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz seeks help from an old blue-haired foe.

 

Oz stared up at their reflection, lifting a finger to try and focus on their white eyes. They’d always appreciated how blank they appeared, how they portrayed nothing. It made it easier for people to underestimate them, and it made their eyes easy to get lost in. But it just wasn’t happening now. Sometime during their trip here, they’d lost their vacuous quality. They reminded them of a broken television set, with jagged white lines racing up and down it’s screen in an anxious dance. A high pitched noise that wasn’t really there pierced through the back of their skull and they leaned back, resting their head against the high back of the tub.

 

 _Don’t vomit, don’t vomit, don’t vomit._ They chanted to themself.

 

They’d have to conjure up a mouth for themself if they got sick again, because there was no way they were swallowing again. It had left them with a heavy, grainy feeling in their stomach, which they had been forced to make for the first time a few days ago. The food just wasn’t disaparating like it used to. Which was another problem in it of itself.

 

Oz couldn’t remember being this tired before. Even if they did get sick again, they weren’t sure they had the strength to actually make a mouth. Keeping their new digestive system maintained at all times robbed them of their ability to speak, and they had switched to speaking telepathically. At this point, they were beginning to doubt whether the small courtesy was worth it. Since their body wasn’t actually doing anything with the food it was eating, their bowels solely existed to keep their chewed up meals from phasing through their skin and falling onto the floor.

 

Like, Aaravi had already seen them vomit into the waste bin twice. Was letting it loose on the floor all that different?

 

It wouldn’t be such a huge problem if they could stop themself. But there was something veracious inside of them that demanded they claw anything chewable apart and shove it down their throat in bizarre, manic episodes of hunger. They had arrived at Aaravi’s, blacked out, and woke up in the literal rubble of their kitchen as the stunned taxidermist approached them with a silver knife. The fear in Aaravi’s eyes had been surprisingly satiating, as long as it had lasted.

 

The silver knife, of course, hadn’t done anything. Oz wasn’t that kind of monster, but it was the default weapon type when you didn’t know what you were dealing with.

 

Their stomach churned. Thinking about the mystery shrouding their situation didn’t make them feel any better. They needed to think of something else before they were forced to deal with another bout of vomit.

 

Heat traveled up their leg in streaks, nails light dragging against their skin. Oz winced. They were used to being cold, and the warm blood traveling through Aaravi’s hands was making them uncomfortable.

 

No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fingers. _Aaravi_ was making them uncomfortable.

 

They remembered being in high school and watching Aaravi constantly try to murder Liam and --

 

 _Don’t think about him._ Oz hugged themself.

 

She had been a joke, in school and out. Besides stalking monsters into places where she had a distinct disadvantage, starting fights she couldn’t finish and failing to see the irony for attacking monsters for being abominations while walking around as a mutant, Aaravi was one of the goofiest people they’d ever seen.

 

She had skin, to start with. Soft, fleshy and vulnerable. Paired with her bright artificially dyed blue hair, Aaravi reminded them of the try hards that would approach them in college who just _knew_ they could fuck with monsters, and could totally be an asset to Oz, they just didn’t realize it. She was overdressed for just about everywhere, a simultaneous admission of their vulnerability that she tried to pass off as looking cool. Seeing her sweat in class while sitting in a leather dress and heavy cloak had been hilarious, but Oz had never been as vocal about just how stupid she looked as their other classmates.

 

Something had changed. She shed all her extra equipment for a simple leather one piece, exposing arm muscles the size of baseballs and legs that could crush watermelons. She paraded her body around casually, trading out the athletic tape that used to cover her arms in favor of showing off her scars. There wasn’t a lot to gaze out though. It looked like Aaravi had gotten pretty good at dodging.

 

Oz looked at the walls. Aaravi had gotten good at dodging _and_ slaying.

 

Trophies littered the walls. Teeth, chunks of preserved flesh with distinctive marks, wings, jewelry that had been made for specific members of powerful families that had only been possible to remove after the owner died. Oz’s eyes locked on a set of green scales and a couple of horns. Everything was displayed neatly on glossy square plaques. It was like that in every room of Aaravi’s house. Oz thinks they might have seen a head above the entrance to her room.

 

“Impressed?” Aaravi mused.

 

She sounded so nonchalant, like her sudden proficiency in murder was nothing new. Her once dramatically spiked ponytail had been replaced by two relaxed braids, both ending with tiny daggers. Without a dramatic get-up to distract from her face, Oz noticed just how unnerving her eyes were. The different shades of green made them seem unnaturally deep.

 

Oz tried to think of something smart to respond with, but the urge to take a nap hit them with full force, and they were forced to struggle with keeping their eyes open.

 

“I’m too tired to be anything,” Oz admitted.

 

Oz’s mental voice sounded less like the gentle, haunting whisper they had gotten used to and more like a cough. They had counted on using it to help intimidate Aaravi into helping them, only to discover that their abilities had declined sharply. Aaravi was still interested in helping her though, for whatever reason. Maybe she thought that kicking Oz out would cause a repeat of what happened in her kitchen.

 

“Scared?” Aaravi tried again.

 

Oz would’ve smirked if they could. This was a bit more like the old Aaravi.

 

“Not even close,” They lowered their eyelids.

 

Few things truly scared them anymore. They had been in business for too long. Before Veran and them even started to get into gang-related crime, Veran had them getting rid of dead bodies. Starting out with the people she choose to petrify and pounding them into rubble, the two gradually escalated to corpses, most of which they made. Aaravi's collection, no matter how big, didn’t scare them.

 

Aaravi lathered up their leg, working their fingers into the flesh under their knees. Oz squirmed. They hated this part, the intimacy of having Aaravi convince them into taking a bath after their little episode. In this state, it would be all too easy for Aaravi to push Oz’s head under the water.

 

It would, admittedly, be a beautiful way to die. Volcanic swamp water was mesmerizing. Bright red and orange lines of lava lit up around clumps of ash. Moving their torso around, Oz relaxed as chunks slipped onto and clung to their middle. It burned the tiny baby hairs they hadn’t been able to shave off their stomach and took its time sagging off her body, leaving trails of ash behind.

 

But Oz still had things they needed to do. They couldn’t die, not just yet. Especially when it would lead her right back to Damien.

 

Oz shuddered.

 

“Changing your mind?” Aaravi tipped her head.

 

“I’m not thinking about you,” Oz snapped in spite of themself, “I’m thinking of Hell.”

 

“Oh yes, you live there now,” Oz’s remark went right over her head, “With the Emperor, and the new boyfriend I gave you.”

 

Oz sat up, and the little flicker of fear on Aaravi’s face gave her an energizing thrill. She was still scary, if not a little powered down.

 

 _I am still part of The Triumvirate. At least until they find out what I’ve done._ Oz lifted their chin.

 

“I don’t know what you mean when you insinuate that Veran being Veran is in any way new. He’s been the biggest man in the room since we were in high school,” Oz tipped their head, “I’m surprised such a mortal, weak-willed mutant would try and whisper about Veran behind his back right into his ear.”

 

“His ear?” Aaravi was surprisingly calm, “If you’re so close to him, why are you here? You can say whatever you want about Veran and how you two seem to look at him but didn’t stop you from showing up a year ago, asking for help contacting Vir Viri. The scary Triumvirate sure seemed desperate for help from such a supposedly mortal, weak mutant. You sure seem to need my help now.”

 

Oz narrowed their eyes, “Aaravi, you’re foolish enough to read into a bunch of flowery underworld rumors that aren’t even true. You’re insecure enough to have to put trophies up in every room. You convinced me to get into the water when I can barely keep my eyes open and you still can’t get the upper hand. I want nothing with you.”

 

Aaravi cracked her knuckles, “You’re just as recklessly bold as I remember you. You’re lucky I don’t take those milky eyes and plaster them up on my walls.”

 

Oz thought of Damien as their back arched, summoning the half decent company they so desperately needed. Fingers digging into the side of the tub, Oz let their anger take over as their fur bubbled. Accompanied by a ghostly cacophony of wailing that sounded out through their eyes, Oz let a horde of constructs lose from their spine, the jagged pieces of their vertebrae slowly pushing through their back like debris floating up to the surface of a muddy swamp. The elasticity of their flesh gave way to something soupy and putrid as the whites bled from their eyes onto their cheeks.

 

The contents of the tub rose as Aaravi took a step back until the sheer mass of Oz’s reinforcements forced the volcanic swap water to completely empty out onto the floor. Surprised by their sudden surge of energy, Oz memorized Aaravi’s horrified expression.

 

“Are those the little worms that would always peak over your shoulders during class?” Aaravi stuttered.

 

A sloppy maw made out of guck carved itself a space under Oz’s nose. It solidified into a pair of smooth, plump lips, framing row after row of sharp teeth as the muddy mess pooling around their spine dried into an open space for their constructs to writhe around their backbone.

 

“I’d hardly call them worms considering worms scavenge for corpses and they’re far more into making one out of the mutant right in front of me,” Oz whispers, they’re entire voice filling up the room.

 

“Do you know what to call them?” Aaravi asked, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead as she continued to push it.

 

Oz pressed their lips into a thin line.

 

“I think I’m starting to get it,” Aaravi circled around Oz, “You remember how big my database is, all the information I’ve gathered over the years after you tree visited with Vera. You don’t know what you are, and you think I have answers.”

 

Oz’s constructs circled around her limbs like impatient snakes, “I am Oz, advisor to the Boss of the Indebted, Foolhardy and Weak. The left hand of the Oberlin crime kingdom, the first of its name, which eviscerates all who seek to challenge it. Tongue of the Red-Eyed Gorgon, Butcher of the Timely Stoned, Coroner of the Crass and Boot Heel of the Nine-Headed Ophidian.”

 

Aaravi wavered as each of Oz’s constructs opened their mouths in a series of curved smiles, two pristine white fangs in each mouth. At first, Oz was confident that Aaravi would run, but then the slayer reached out and stoked one of their heads.

 

Oz’s strength flooded from them as their legs became weak. Knees buckling, they stopped arching against the tub and sagged, surprised by the cold pleasure racing from the constructs head to their body. It felt like Veran was giving them a slow backrub after a networking party full of drinking and a horrible stint over the toilet. Unlike the bad touch she’d felt having Aaravi work her hands over her legs in the bath, this felt amazing. In spite of themself they leaned forward, letting out a whimper they didn’t even know they had in them.

 

“You’re awfully bold for someone who doesn’t know what's wrong with them,” Aaravi rubbed their chin, “I should’ve known this would work better. It’s less intimate, let’s me interact with the inner recesses of your power.”

 

 _What?_ Oz vaguely thought, practically falling out of the tub in an attempt to get closer to Aaravi’s hand. Damnation it felt nice. They couldn’t even get stuck on the fact that it was coming from Aaravi. Aaravi stroked a little harder and Oz moaned. All but the construct purring in Aaravi’s hand folded back into Oz’s spine. Oz’s feet pushed at the floor of the tub, not registering that they could be closer to Aaravi by simply getting out of the tub as a flush worked its way across their face. The strength to maintain their mouth went away with Aaravi’s supposed fear as she reached for a towel off to the side, keeping her fingers on the construct.

 

“Did you plan this?” Oz warbled, unable to stop themself from reaching for her.

 

Aaravi suddenly jerked her hand away, and it was like someone distilled a migraine into a syringe and inserted it into her lower back. Pain shot up to her neck, and Oz found themself involuntarily putting pressure on the spot as their construct dissolved.

 

“Why did you stop?” Oz gritted their teeth.

 

“There really is something wrong with you,” Aaravi breathed, “I’m going to have so much fun figuring out what it is.”

 

She tossed the towel at Oz’s chest, “You might want to cover up your tits.”

 

Oz flushed again, quickly toweling off and wrapping the linen around their chest. The little nubs of the towel sent soreness racing through her chest. Dropping it, Oz looked at their discarded pile of clothes and hesitated.

 

Damien’s watched ticked invitingly on top of their blue cardigan. Even though just thinking of the Emperor of Hell right now gave them heart palpitations. Having one of his gifts -- a reminder of before they ran off, would make it pretty hard not to think of him, but the memory attached to it was so good that Oz couldn’t resist slipping it back on.

 

The two had just gotten into a fight, which was a rare treat. Nowadays, Damien directed his violent tendencies to wage war and violence during “diplomatic” negotiations with other leaders of Hell, which was Veran code for “daily coercion meetings”. Damien did most of the threatening and posturing, while Oz did the actual transactions -- how much territory they would be demanding to be absorbed into their ring of Hell, the amount of “taxes” they would be receiving from the other leader in exchange for protection in Hell, the exact number of magical valuables they wanted from the other rings’ national vault, how many tribute corpses they were expecting in exchange for further diplomatic exchanges and, somewhat to their displeasure, how many concubines Damien was expecting in return for not throttling their ass.

 

The other eldritch abomination had shown a surprising amount of spine for someone with no ground to stand on. Somehow he seemed to have thought the negotiations were going to actually be diplomatic, and had raged into obscenities about the game they were playing, how the demands were clearly just to serve the two cows Damien had let into his life, and how Hell had been going down the toilet since Damien’s dads gave him the throne.

 

Oz hadn’t seen Damien flip over a table in years, and they felt an old thrill as he dug his claws into the side of the table, pushed off with his feet and lunged at the surprised nonconformist’s throat. Oz had been busy with meetings for weeks, and watching someone actually move had fascinated her in a way that probably just added fuel to the ridiculous rumors always swarming around the Triumvirate. Damien had been pretty resilient to Veran’s attempt to get him in anything decent, and Oz had been able to see his muscles under his leathery skin move.

 

Damien had ripped the man’s head off with his teeth, but he was growing another one in an instant. Something in Oz made them forget about the smooth, charismatic voice they put on for coercion, open up their back and rip the other leader to shreds.

 

Veran had come back to find his meeting room a complete mess and his walls painted a new shade of red. Oz out of practice when it came to hand to hand, and Damien had let them pass out on him until Veran starting demanding what they’d done. Where were his assets? Did they scare the guy off? Oz, I left you to make sure this didn’t happen!

 

Finding out they committed murder made him a lot less mad than if they did anything else. It meant a figurehead could be put in the old leader’s place, and they didn’t need to worry about him coming back for revenge or something else inane. Disgusted, Veran had carted them off to his room and dumped them on his bed, looking disgusted as he plopped down between them.

 

“Now I’ve got to make sure you two don’t wake up fucked up and try to go something else stupid,” He hissed.

 

He had been annoyed, not mad. Oz had seen the people who made Veran mad -- they spent Friday afternoons burying them.

 

The next day at breakfast Damien had interrupted Veran’s lecture about Damien’s lack of patience and how surprised he was at Oz with a pair of bloodied watched he’d apparently stolen from the leader’s corpse. Oz remembered Veran rolling his eyes and secretly slipping it into his pocket, while they eagerly slapped it on their wrist. They liked to think the hands of the clock were still ticking in time to their heartbeat when they had ripped the deposed ruler’s heart out of their chest and Damien had whistled. They had thrown their old watch out.

 

 _You’re never going to have times like that again._ A nagging voice said from the back of Oz’s head.

 

They huffed and slapped the bracelet on. Pulling on their cardigan, they couldn’t help but notice how odd it felt to wear it without the undershirt Veran had given them with it. But putting on two layers had grown too constricting over the past two days, and wearing a bra has suddenly gotten extremely uncomfortable.

 

Usually, they could just choose, however “feminine” or “masculine” they wanted to be, but that had gone away with most of their energy. Oz had been stuck in their most female form to date, with irritating tits that refused to cooperate, long legs that took up most of their short height and a pair of hips that were completely useless as far as they were concerned. They were far bigger than what Oz was usually comfortable with. They felt like a pear.

 

Hopping into their dress slacks, Oz stepped out of the tub. Aaravi turned and started walking away, much to Oz’s confusion.

 

“Hey wait! Where are you going?” Oz demanded.

 

“To pack. We’re going on a trip,” Aaravi stated.

 

“No we’re not,” Oz pointed decisively, “You might’ve gotten me a little flustered, which was weird to do without asking first, but I’m not going anywhere else with you. You haven’t told me anything and I don’t trust you nearly that much.”

 

Aaravi tossed open the doors of her grand bathroom to step into her giant bedroom. The walls curved at the top into a chandelier of daggers, which lit up the room with dim light. A giant suede chair, the closest thing Aaravi seemed to have for a bed, sat right under it, surrounded by dozens of room dividers spiraling out to display her impressive weapons collection.

 

“You think I have everything here? My house just hosts all the immediate information I need. Whatever’s wrong with you is some old shit. We’ll need to go to one of my hideouts with the older pieces of my collection,” Aaravi assured Oz.

 

“Why would you break your things up like that?” Oz threw their hands up.

 

“Do you put all of your valuable things in one place?” Aaravi challenged them.

 

Oz faltered. Aaravi had them there. They had invented the system the Triumvirate used to safeguard their most precious things specifically because they and Veran found out Damien was just tossing it all in a closet.

 

A dull, resounding thud echoed through the house. Oz froze up, and Aaravi slowly turned from packing a bag. Terror raced through them as they whipped around to stare down Aaravi.

 

“I thought your house was safe?” Oz dropped into a crouch, hugging their knees.

 

“It is,” Aaravi strode over to the wall.

 

Nicking her fingers on one of the blades sticking out of her hair, she spread blood over her fingertip. Drawing a symbol onto the wall, she stepped back as it lit up and turned into a small circular mirror displaying her front porch.

 

Oz’s heart stopped. Veran stood tensed before the front door, suit disheveled. The eyes Oz had spent years gazing into and portrayed so many of his best emotions -- his ruthless ambition,  his devilish disregard, his well-deserved vanity, his pompous pride -- now blazed with fury. His red serpentine slits barely stood out against the whites of his eyes. As his upper lip curled, Oz caught glimpse of his rarely seen fangs. His snakes darted in every direction as if looking for something to snap at. Their usual luster was gone, replaced by smatterings of blood from whatever poor sap had managed to get in his way.

 

Oz clutched their stomach as Aaravi swore. Veran seemed to have found Oz, and they were terrified, but there was something else too. Something like whatever they felt when Aaravi had stroked their constructs. Veran looked terrifying, in a way that both made them want to bolt towards the exit and started a tingling behind their belly button. Their knees felt weak again.

 

 _What the actual fuck is going on right now?_ Oz asked themself.

 

Was it the idea of fighting Veran? As formal as the Triumvirate’s relationship was with each other, Oz admitted to themself they could never put their mind to actually trying to put an end to the other two. That’s why they ran in the first place. Their sentimentality made them weak. Becoming detached is what allowed them to be so charming with the rest of Hell. It made it easy to give out empty promises and soothe old wounds enough that people would keep rolling over for Damien's destruction and Veran’s pillaging. Realizing they were soft towards the rest of the Triumvirate is what first told them something was wrong actually, before they were exhausted all the time, before their powers began to seep away. But they had ignored it until it all began piling up. They were friends yes, but they were supposed to be _business_ friends.  

 

“Aaravi!” Veran hissed, his hair stopping to rattle all at once.

 

The fur on the back of Oz’s neck stood up and they almost buckled over.

 

“Are you okay?” Aaravi actually looked concerned.

 

Oz nodded awkwardly, trying not to give away the strange crockpot of fear and whatever the Hell else was going on right now.

 

“I know you’re in there! Where’s Oz!” Veran lifted his hand and slammed it into the front door, claws piercing through the wood as splinters flew.

 

“You think I wouldn’t find out in an instant? I’ve juggled more numbers than you’ll ever see in your miserable life. Do you know how many people were capable of fucking with us,? Count my fingers.  Do know how many could’ve pulled a disappearance off? Count my eyes. Do you know how many gave a fuck about trying to save you when I told them who I was looking for? Zilch. You think getting here was somehow hard for me? I used about half a pocket of change. You’ve got ten seconds to get out of the busted, dirty, shack of a trophy house before I turn you into a garden statue,” He demanded.

 

 _He sounds like he’s in the middle of a merger._ Oz thought somewhat fondly. Even though Veran was clearly pissed, there was still a steadiness to his pose and an exactness for how far his feet were spread apart. His threat, while dripping with vitriol, was clearly thought out. Oz couldn’t think of a way to out talk him, or convince him his anger was misplaced. All they could do for now is run.

 

“Out the back,” Aaravi red Oz’s mind.

 

Oz followed her back through the bathroom, sloppily made bag in tow. They could still hear Veran shouting from the wall.

 

“I’ve got fifteen grunt men, five different archaic horrors and the Emperor on the way. My Bluetooth is your coroner. I’m counting now. One!” Veran screamed.

 

Oz tripped over themself at the mention of Damien. Their heart felt like it was going to explode out of their chest. Aaravi slung her bag over her shoulder and scooped Oz up, leaving them to clutch at her collar.

 

“We gotta move fast,” Aaravi explained but Oz found them didn’t care that much. Being carried like this let them stew in the intoxicatingly warm feeling that was pooling in their stomach.

 

Aaravi went into what Oz assumed was the towel closet, hooked her finger around an invisible loop and lifting up the floor. It compressed into the ceiling, revealing an ancient looking lift that seemed to disappear into the underground. Oz could make out the distant sound of the front door being kicked down, and multiple feet trampling into Aaravi’s house.

 

“Hold on,” She stepped forward.

 

Oz’s grip on her tightened, “Why am I trusting you again?”

 

“You’ve got no one else,”Aaravi said somewhat smugly, “Besides, you know I’m good for it. As soon as we figure out what you are, you’ll find a way to treat yourself, and I’ll have enough information to know your weakness, strengths and every twisted trick you could ever throw at me.”

 

She leaned her head in close, “Then one day, at the very top of your game when you least expect it, I’ll be the one killing you. Not whatever’s in your chest. Having a third of the triumvirate tacked up on my wall will be a Hell of surprise.”

 

Kicking the lift’s crank, Aaravi cackled as the lift dropped into the darkness, Oz’s rebuttal ripped out of their throat by the descent.

 

 


	2. Miranda The Genocidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaravi and Oz escape Veran only to run into an old face. Oz finally drifts off, and the only thing better than the nap is the dream of a memory that comes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wrote this chapter in two days. Can you believe it? If this huge block of text isn't enough to tide you over, then why don't you check out my other stories?
> 
> I love comments, and I might just give you some spoilers if you leave some. Whether it's criticisms or theories about what's going on, I'd love to hear from my readers!

Tons of chewed up food fell through Oz’s torso. Aaravi stepped back in disgust as the former contents of her refrigerator spread across the floor; clumps of jam, gnawed up bones, shreds of damp bread, what they thought used to be chocolate, plastic and a few pieces of dented silverware? Oz hadn’t been paying attention to what they had been shoving down at all.

 

Letting it phase out of their body left Oz dazed, and they fell to their knees in a puddle of broth. The urge to vomit had come on too fast to form a mouth. Their and Aaravai’s descent into the underground had been too hard and too fast. They felt almost as weak as they did when Aaravi convinced them to take a bath, but now they knew better than to let the slayer convince them into getting into such a compromising position again, no how badly they felt they needed it.

 

Stumbling, Oz managed to pull themself to their knees, leaning against the wall. Looking at Aaravai, they reached for her elbow.

 

“Your arm,” They demanded.

 

The didn’t want Aaravi picking them up again either. Fleeing from Veran had forced them to make a split second decision. But he was far above ground now, and the alarm that spiked through Oz when Aaravi whispered her future plans had managed to ruffle them.

 

Oz still wasn’t scared, but they knew better now than to be as relaxed at they had been around Aaravi. Technically they didn’t have anything to be worried about now, but having to be hauled off by someone who wanted to kill them later was humiliating. Demanding Aaravi to help them felt better than asking her for help. Since they had nothing to exchange Aaravi for her aid -- their plan to intimidate her having fallen through -- they’d just have to deal with the fact that they’d be indirectly helping her future assassination attempts.

 

Wincing, Aaravi daintily stepped over Oz’s mess and offered her elbow. Oz grabbed it, forcing themself to stand straight.

 

“What is this place?” Oz questioned.

 

“My tunnels,” Aaravi carefully began to move over Oz’s old meal, “I use them to move around quickly. It helps me to chase targets.”

 

“I use minions,” Oz inputted.

 

Aaravi glanced at them curiously, and Oz inhaled deeply through their nose. It was time to be a bit more persuasive now that they knew where everything lied. Aaravi might technically have the upper hand, but Oz couldn’t let them think that. It might lead to detours, or Aaravi trying to get more out of their arrangement.

 

“What? I might not hunt monsters for game or profit, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had to get rid of them. Did you say the main reason you want to kill me someday is that I’m part of the Triumvirate? You think we waste time charming everyone?” Oz asked smoothly.

 

“It’s not that,” Aaravi surprised her, “It just seems like you’ve finally gotten over your mood swing.”

 

“When was I moody?” Oz raised an eyebrow, ready for another trick.

 

“Almost the entire time you were in the tub,” Aaravi accused.

 

Oz remembered their new plan, “Could you blame me for being a little off put by being tended to someone I don’t know? You have surprisingly tender hands for someone who makes a living killing. I was caught off guard. It felt like a trick, which I guess it was. Congratulations, you fooled me when I knew I was being fooled.”

 

Aaravi tries to look impassive, but there’s a glitter of pride in her eyes that tell Oz they’d gotten it just right. Not too sweet to cause suspicion, just enough nonchalance to make it sound like they admitted defeat out of irritation, and a little bit of “accidental” admiration.

 

“This one leads to several of my newer hideouts. My entire system is in chunks, it’s not interconnected underground. We’ll have to go to one of the newer hideouts and go underground again there. It’ll lead to my older archives. We’ll find something there,” Aaravi explained.

 

Oz hid their exasperation at having to go through another tunnel. For a moment they worried about vomiting again, but then they realized they had nothing to left to throw up. Their stomach rumbled.

 

“You’re hungry?” Aaravi made a face.

 

“Well you saw how much I ate,” Oz smiled with their eyes, “You’re a half decent cook.”

 

“Was that a compliment?” Aaravi asked confidently.

 

 _Obviously._ Oz thought.

 

“If you want it to be,” Oz added a bit of a rasp to their telepathic voice and put a hand on Aaravi’s chest.

 

The Slayer flushed, “I think you’re feeling a bit light headed after everything. I’ve got some food in the other pantry. It’s all dry though. I made it for traveling so maybe you’ll actually be able to hold it down.”

 

“That’s hopeful,” Oz moves one of their heels under one of their feet, stumbling convincingly.

 

Their hand jerked on the collar of Aaravi’s shirt, the lush fur of their fingers brushing against her collarbone. Aaravi took a sip of air and quickly hooked her other arm around Oz’s waist. Oz was able to completely straighten their back, and loosen their grip on Aaravi’s other elbow. They inched their finger up Aaravi's shoulder.

 

“I’m okay,” Oz said, keeping their hands exactly where they were.

 

Aaravi quickened her step, splitting her eyes between the rest of the tunnel and Oz. Oz hid their pride. _This_ was the was the way to make a strange carry you and maintain control; fluster and distraction. As Aaravi continued to guide them, Oz casually inched her pinkie finger up and down, as if she were zoning out. Aaravi was puffing out her chest more and more by the second. A valuable future target that also seemed to get a crush on her in one of their biggest moments of vulnerability why they begged her for help? What a story!

 

Dumbass.

  

* * *

 

 

“Your hideout is in the merkingdom?” Oz blinked hard.

 

“Sometimes the Vanderbilts needs certain people taken care off. Leaders of uprisings, airpeople, things like that. It’s decent pay during my offseasons,” Aaravi revealed.

 

If Aaravi had made her first house look a little more like this, Oz might’ve actually been intimidated. As they ascended a set of underground staircases, the walls became glass and grand, towering so far overhead that Oz actually began to strain their neck. Scones dotted them where they met the floor, and instead of a bunch of plaques, Aarav’s trophies were contained in a few thousand bubbles drifting towards the top of the ceiling. The arrangement allowed for light to stream in from outside and shine through them, casting a series of weird patterns onto the ground. Any newcomer looking for the source would glance up and see the horde of miscellaneous body parts that almost seemed like they were floating in mid-air.

 

Oz hid their astonishment, fingers still purposefully circling Aaravi’s collarbone. She cleared her throat, looking smug. Oz jerked it away as if Aaravi was a hot poker and they didn’t just give her a fake tool to lord over their head.

 

“The Vanderbilts paid a slayer to kill for them?” Oz inquired.

 

“Who better than a slayer to take out monsters?” Aaravi nodded.

 

It was the kind of twisted Oz was used to seeing in Hell. Yeah, people in their word did all sorts of macabre things. It’s why the humans feared them, and why their worlds seemed so separate despite chugging along right next to each other. But bringing someone from that other world was a special kind of underhanded. Sure, Aaravi was a monster slayer, but most monsters still wouldn’t expect one of they own kind to sick a slayer on them.

 

“That’s incredibly smart,” Oz was kind of jealous, “Which one of Miranda’s sisters is on the throne?”

 

“None. Queen Miranda is in charge,” Aaravi helped them onto a sponge chaise.

 

“Miranda Vanderbilt is in charge?” Oz forced her voice to stay light.

 

“For about three years,” Aaravi disappeared behind a corner.

 

Oz closed their eyes and tried to remember if their memory of Miranda was somehow flawed. No, they were pretty sure the bright pink mermaid in her head had been just as stupid as Oz remembered.

 

They’d never figured out why Veran hanged out with her. Though Miranda’s family performed the sort of genocidal crimes against monsterkind Veran liked to read about over his black coffee, Miranda’s ignorance about the truth behind them and the unsustainable rate at which the Vanderbilts committed their horrible acts always put Oz off. If you were going to commit sins properly, you needed to know what you were doing, or there was no honor among monsters. The reasons the Vanderbilts always used to lash out always seemed ludicrous. It looked like they would kill all their subjects in a matter of years, and all their means for maintaining their wealth and power would go with them.

 

Oz remembered starting the Triumvirate underground, how they and Veran had helped Damien create a systematic method to his cruelty. Setting up expectations was key. It made people fear _you_ specifically, not just being alive. It made them easier to order around too. They knew that you weren’t just randomly set off, and if they did what you asked, all would be fine.

 

Occasionally, when it worked too well and there were long periods of peace, the Triumvirate would declare war to remind the denizens of Hell of their might. But that was only when people started to forget their atrocities and started to speak out of line or “forget” their duties to see how much they could get away with.

 

The answer was nothing. No one got away with anything.

 

That was the one thing all three of them could agree on. Damien had never let anyone fuck with his life. Veran never let anyone fuck with his money. Oz never let anyone fuck with either of them.

 

Oz crossed their arms, flopping back onto the sponge. They blinked slowly, suddenly hit by the strong urge to take a nap. The ocean outside muffled any random noise, and they were literally surrounded by whale noises.

 

But they couldn’t relax. Not just because that would leave them open to Aaravi, but because they couldn’t relax with thoughts of their old life bouncing around in their head. Now Miranda was entering the mental mix.

 

To be honest, Oz just couldn’t quite get the word “over” to stick in their head. Veran’s rage was very much in the forefront of their mind, they weren’t stupid enough to forget that. But that weird tingling feeling still lingering in their stomach kept the fact that he had probably told Damien about Oz’s fleeing to Aaravi by now from sinking in. It felt like . . . it felt like . . .

 

It felt like something that really made Oz hate Miranda. She had clearly gotten over her ditziness and embraced her role as the Queen of the Merpeople. She still had everything Oz had lost. Plus there was whatever drew Veran to her in high school.

 

Oz had often wondered if it was their scales. It was a stupid thought, but with Veran and Miranda having such vastly different personalities, Oz theorized that they bonded over their similar anatomy. Sure Miranda was more fish than snake, but they both clearly had predatory attributes. Oz was furry, and lacked the ability to take easily to water. Maybe that’s why the month after prom went the way it did.

 

Oz shook their head. What a stupid thought. Right?

 

Oz rubbed circles into their middle, trying to calm the irritation that slowly seemed to be radiating from it. Suddenly, their body felt a bit too tight. Like they were wearing clothes that were a size too small.

 

Aaravi strode around the corner, a huge bowl filled with kabobs in her hands. Oz started to sit up but the sponge felt too soft. Her agitation kept them from falling asleep but they desperately wanted to take a nap.

 

“Queen Miranda is here,” Aaravi revealed, lifting a kebob.

 

Oz bristled violently, “ _What_?”

 

It came out as a cerebral bark, and Aaravi jerked in surprised. Oz remembered they were supposed to be charismatic and scooted back on the sponge, so they looked less like they collapsed and more like they were lounging purposefully.

 

“She just sent over a bubble. One of the fish spies she constantly has swimming around saw me inside the house. She’s calling it monarchally mandated soiree to check up on their favorite slayer,” Aaravi pushed the kebob closer to Oz.

 

Oz realized Aaravi was trying to feed them. Focusing, Oz was barely able to create their lips. Cheekily licking them, they sucked a bit of bell pepper off the stick into their mouth, working their tongue into the crevices of the vegetable before they began to chew. Aaravi dropped the kebob and Oz caught it in their teeth. Not stopping to take in how ruffled they made Aaravi, Oz closed their lips over the kebob, they bit down on the wood with their teeth and pulled the stick out of their mouth, letting the food fall down their throat. They don’t even taste it.

 

But the feeling Oz got when it fell into their quickly conjured stomach was addicting. The next eight kabobs were gone in a matter of seconds. Oz think they might have swallowed a few of the skewers. Clumsily, they grab another fistful and shove all five into their mouth, their cheeks bulging as the tall pair of doors across the room fell forward.

 

Aaravi immediately drew her knife, relaxing when she saw who it was, “You could’ve knocked, your Majesty.”

 

Miranda Vanderbilt floated on the other side of the door. A floating magical symbol kept all the water outside from flooding inside, something her two servants were very obviously confused by. A huge battering ram hang between them, and the quaking of their arms showed that their strength was about to give out for what looked like nothing.

 

“It’s fine!” Miranda chirps, “I live to make an entrance.”

 

Oz had never seen Miranda in her mermaid form before. A series of expensive looking jewels ran asymmetrically up the sides of her sleek pink tail. It seemed in place of legs to put pants or skirts on Miranda decided to bejewel herself. The most “modest” thing she seemed to be wearing was a fairly elaborate lace peplum blouse, framed by an incredibly ornate shell necklace and a tall crown.

 

Oz hated looking at the combination. Miranda’s appearance, which looked like she hadn’t grown at all since high school, clashed with her new extremely regal attire. Young but wealthy, supposedly devious but innocent looking enough to fool a casual observer. Veran would love her.

 

The fur on Oz’s back grew damp, curling in on itself as it when from fluffy to muddy. Oz’s spine poked into the sponge as fanged constructs poured out of them and dripped down the sides the sponge, framing it in a writhing horde. Oz continued to savagely tear the bowl of kabobs apart, eyes locked on the queen as they forced themself to remember her station.

 

Miranda swam forward, her arms poking through the symbol. Her arms dripped as they hovered over the living room floor, and the fins on her arms began to shrink. As her time partially exposed to air grew from two seconds to five, the fishy parts of her appearance began to fade away. She held her breath as her gills disappeared, and sort of fell into Aaravi’s living room, landing in a crouch.

 

Oz’s constructs rumbled. They were halfway hoping she’d fall on her face.

 

“Aaravi, my favorite assassin! Come here,” Miranda opened her arms for a hug.

 

Aaravi leaned into her embrace as a small crowd of people who’d been hiding behind Miranda’s servants followed her suit. Oz immediately guessed they’d never transformed in the air before. Their movements were a bit more clumsy than Miranda’s. And when they finally morphed into their landform, half of them forgot to hold their breath and started choking. _Everyone_ fell.

 

Food fell with them. Trays of dessert horderves they had been carrying in their arms. Bowls of cocktail sausages. Plates of seawater biscuits. Foreign ouroboros steaks. Calzones that humed with a strange aura. A gigantic cheese platter. Goblets filled with a chopped up samplings of foreign fruit. Small shot glasses of fine wine.

 

One of the transformed merpeople saw Oz’s constructs and yelped. Oz immediately sat up, looking down at her empty bowl of kabobs. Their stomach rumbled.

 

Miranda tightened her arms around Aaravi’s shoulders until they were pressing against the slayer’s neck.

 

“I trust you got rid of the revolutionists’ leader?” She asked expectantly.

 

Aaravi laughed stiffly, “Yes your Majesty.”

 

“Ah!” Miranda hopped back, throwing up her arms as bubbliness returned to her voice, “I was worried, you see. I expected you back days ago. I thought maybe you had run.”

 

“Never!” Aaravi shouted quickly, “ I sent his hands in the mail to you as proof just like you asked. They must not have made it through yet!”

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Miranda clapped, “Let’s celebrate!”

 

The merpeople quickly put the food, which was miraculously dry, on Aaravi’s driftwood coffee table. Almost as if they had been forced to learn a specific dance, they all started high kicking and energetically swaying from side to side. Oz could’ve sworn they saw a mergirl trying not to sob.

 

“That dirty insurrectionist was actually starting to get propaganda out of the slums to the rest of the commoners. I actually had to deal with one of them a few weeks ago. They just burst into court during a very important proposal about including napkin folding artistry into the blueblood curriculum, accusing me of being a tyrant! I had to make them disappear,” Miranda sighed.

 

She started to talk again when spotted Oz moving. Oz forced themself to stop and bow their head, flashing her brilliant smile.

 

“Your Majesty,” Oz started.

 

“Oz!” Miranda shrieked, diving towards them.

 

Oz stiffened as Miranda hugged their middle. It felt so wrong, and it wasn’t just because the hug came from Miranda.

 

“I haven’t seen you since high school. How have you been? How’s Vera? I haven’t heard from her in a while.” Miranda trilled.

 

Oz smothered their newfound urge to break her nose, “Veran’s lovely actually. After achieving a net worth in the billions, he took a little time to explore himself and discovered he was much more comfortable being Veran.”

 

“OH,” Miranda gets it immediately, which unfortunately takes away any excuse Oz would have to assault her.

 

“Well, it’s lovely that Veran is happy. You must be close, considering you know so much. And I remember you were into business things too! Did you take time off with him?” Miranda asks.

 

Oz’s heart skipped a beat, then crashed to the bottom of their chest as the tingling returned. They clutched the bottom of their shirt as they forced their voice to stay smooth, suddenly feeling fairly hot. Their stomach growled.

 

“Yes, your Majesty. Damien LaVey came too. I trust you remember him, you seem to have a lovely memory,” Oz beamed.

 

“It comes with having such a lovely visage,” Miranda winked, “It’s so nice to hear that you guys have been hanging out. We all really should see each other again sometime, and it would be so much more convenient if everyone was still hanging around each other. Liam, Scott and Polly are probably super successful too!”

 

“I can’t think of why they wouldn’t,” Oz agreed. Dammit, now they were thinking about home again, with its lush decorations and views over the other 665 rings of Hell.

 

Oz glanced back at the coffee table, leaning into their intense hunger as it encouraged them to ignore Miranda.

 

The queen pointed at Oz’s constructs, “Are those your little buddies from high school? You’ve sure grown a lot of them. They have teeth now? They sort of remind me of my imported hellhounds. Or what they looked like before they drowned anyway.”

 

“Hellhounds? You still have your impeccable taste,” Oz said distractedly.

 

They grabbed an entire goblet and dumped it onto the cheese platter, transfixed by the colors of the food as it mixed. Fisting a handful of gouda and grapes together, Oz shoved it into their mouth, crumbling three biscuits on top.

 

Aaravi seemed horrified by Oz’d manners. Oz couldn’t care less as the ripped open a calzone and used it to scoop up all the sausages. Somehow their mouth contorted to take it all in, and Oz swallowed it all with one ungodly gulp.

 

If Miranda noticed, she didn’t speak up, “I actually haven’t been paying much attention to politics in Hell, have you? Oh! You know Damien, he must be right in the thick of it.”

 

Somewhere in the back of Oz’s head, they registered the conversation was reaching dangerous territory. Miranda’s lack of information about Hell meant that she wouldn’t go off telling everyone Oz had been in one of Aaravi’s houses. Oz needed to make sure they didn’t give anything away, or accidentally make Miranda curious enough to start looking into Hell.

 

But their hunger just about drowned the rational thought out. Oz began wrapping the seawater biscuits in the ouroboros steaks and shoveling them down. Aaravi made a strange sound and suddenly grabbed Oz’s shoulders. Oz rumbled agitatedly, moving around her to get another goblet of fruit.

 

“It’s been delightful your Majesty, but Oz and I are actually on a little time crunch. They’re not feeling all that well,” Aaravi explained.

 

“Oh that’s -- wait, did you eat the entire cheese platter?” Miranda crossed her arms.

 

Oz grunted, shoving Aaravi away as she tried to grab them again. Miranda was right, all the cheese was somehow gone. But they still had more goblets full of fruit to eat. This was bad.

 

“Your Majesty, you really should go. Oz really isn’t at their best,” Aaravi began to nudge Miranda towards the exit.

 

Oz snorted as they tipped their head back, dumping four goblets worth of fruit into their mouth. The smell of the wine put them off, and they swiped the expensive shot glasses off the table.

 

Miranda gasped, “How dare you! Those were antiques. I ought to --”

 

“Please your Majesty,” Aaravi stressed as the other partygoers began to back up, “I was trying to be polite, but this is turning into an emergency. I think she’s having another one of her episodes, you have to leave.”

 

“Episodes?” Miranda frowned, “What?”

 

Oz tossed the empty cheese platter to the side angrily. Their arms became a blur as they dove into the hourdeves. Each of the desserts looked delicious. Every single one seemed to have been carefully made, and they smelled heavenly. Arms becoming a blur, Oz shoved each one into their mouth. Oz’s horde of constructs slammed against the coffee table. The driftwood rocked as their weight caused all the serving pieces to come crashing together. The cocktail sausages tumbled into the rest of the seawater biscuits, grease dripping onto the table. All of the foreign ouroborus streaks bunched up on top of each other, tangling in a giant heap. Calzones slipped up the hill of meat with the pull of gravity as the goblets fell off the table. They bounced against the floor, fruit tumbling everywhere. Rolling in the puddles of wasted alcohol, the fruit glittered next to the various shards of glass.

 

It looked delicious.

 

Miranda’s guests screamed as Oz jumped at the culinary mess, strength surging through their body. Their body slammed against the driftwood table, their mouth filling with steak. Digging their fingers into the other end of the steaks, they ripped the ends off into their mouth. Oz didn’t even properly taste them before taking their next bite. Oz slurped as they bit and bit and bit until their teeth hit the surface of the coffee table.

 

Aaravi grabbed their arm, no longer herding the queen out of her house. Miranda seemed to have left, along with the rest of the party.

 

 _More food for us._ Oz shoveled cocktail sausages into their gullet.

 

Aaravi was trying to pull her away. Distantly, Oz thought they might’ve even heard her say something. They shoved her aside and ripped into the calzones. Oz’s constructs started tossing them into the air, snapping off pieces over and over, keeping the food in the air by batting it from head to head in a gluttonous game of continuous shot put.

 

Had they done this before? Oz couldn’t remember. Pounding their fists, Oz reduced the biscuits to crumbles and began licking them up, her constructs crowding around them to help.

 

They palmed the empty coffee table. Where was the food? Was it gone? There was more food, right?

 

Oz ambled to their feet, stepping over Aaravi’s body. They took another step and dropped to one knee in a smattering of glass. Oz didn’t register it cutting into their fur as their heavy eyelids took longer and longer to close. Oz was so hungry, but they were also . . . sleepy?

 

The puddles of wine smelled awful, but they looked so comfortable. So colorful. Oz slumped to their side and yawned, a raspberry glancing against their lips as they fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 “You look amazing Veran,” Oz whispered, “Gorgeous, as always.”

 

Veran was still. Oz glanced over at Aaravi, who was still counting her money and muttering ‘Bless Vir Viri’ under their breath. Oz bristled. They hated it when someone was in any of the Triumvirate’s private quarters, especially any of the bedrooms.

 

“Thank you for your help Aaravi,” Oz said smoothly, “Do you need any help teleporting out?”

 

Aaravi, the dense bitch, held up her hands, “No, just making sure everything is here. I have a teleportation stone. Enjoy your new body Mr. Oberlin.”

 

She snapped her fingers and vanished in a puff of smoke as Oz shouted, “It’s always been his body!”

 

“Oz,” Veran hissed.

 

His voice was deeper, but just as smooth. Oz felt their face heat up as they scrambled off the edge of Veran’s bed, smoothing the plush, quilted purple comforter. He only hissed when he was pissed. Now wasn’t the time to be getting flustered.

 

“Yes?” Oz asked, inching forward.

 

Veran’s shoulders bunched up, his perfect posture broken. But that didn’t make him any less statuesque. His shoulders had grown broad and defined. His skin, still moisturized by days at the spa, looked so touchable. Oz felt their hands twitch as Veran rolled his shoulders, the muscles in his back rippling.

 

“Come here,” He ordered.

 

Oz’s heartbeat thudded in their ears as they approached Veran, their legs feeling weak. Veran finally turned and Oz hid their fidgeting hands behind their back, resisting the urge to touch everything they saw.

 

Veran had always been gorgeous. Alongside his successes, all the magazines lauded his good looks. The luster of his snakes framed his sharp face, and all the extra eyes made his gaze extremely intense. Each one shone with intelligence, and he knew it. His plump lips curved into a permanent smirk that broadcasted his superiority, growing darker as they neared his teeth. Veran’s mouth coarsed with poison, literally and figuratively. It made him confident, and his thick eyebrows seemed perpetually lowered in a knowing look that highlighted his chiseled nose and extremely sharp cheekbones. Oz always liked staring at him, but now there was more.

 

“What do you think?” He hummed silkily.

 

“It was a brilliant trade-off. I figured Aaravi would know how to summon such a powerful spirit. It’s a shame the seventh circle’s librarians burned the spell when they figured out we were pillaging for it. Spite is such an ugly emotion when it’s not being used by us,” Oz appraised their deal.

 

“Evaluate the _product_ Ozzie,” Veran trailed his long fingers down his neck onto his chest.

 

Oz fisted their cardigan, surprised by the pet name and Veran’s request. Trying to stay neutral, they let their eyes trail down Veran’s long, graceful neck. His sharp collarbone framed his shoulders. The little dip seemed to point down.

 

Oz’s hands anxiously moved over the fabric of their clothes as they tried to steady the rise and fall of their chest. They hadn’t felt quite like this since around prom. Since then their flashes of Veran has been brief and formal.

 

Oz tried to keep it that way as they saw Veran’s brand new abs. Veran had been thin before, curvy, but now every part of his torso was toned. His pectorals looked rock hard, like whatever unholy deity sculpted his face decided to come back and chisel out his torso. There was a distinct lack of hair, excluding a neatly trimmed trail under his . . .

 

“Grade-A quality Veran. You seem very strong, able to hold yourself up in any altercations we might stumble into. I don’t see any skin discolorations that might lead us to worry about your health. You look very fit,” Oz clapped.

 

Oz struggled to keep the movement of their hands from shifting around their cardigan. The fur on their chest felt extremely sensitive all of a sudden. They silently swore under their breath. Were they floofing up?

 

Veran’s neutral expression disappeared. His snakes fell into his face, and Oz found themself surprised at just how long his hair was when he wasn’t holding it up above his clothes. Veran curled his lip, his drooping snakes brushing against his bare chest.

 

“Ozzie, you know I don’t like games unless I’m running them. Don’t play with me. I’m perfect now,” Veran rolled his shoulders.

 

He brushed the glyph made out of ash off his chest as Oz faltered, confused. Did Veran say something that they missed? His room was making it hard to think. Oz knew Veran liked to turn up the heat but Hell, it was hot in here.

 

“Ozzie,” Veran hissed softly, the tongues of her snakes licking at the air, “I can smell you. I can taste your arousal in the air.”

 

Oz tripped onto their ass _hard_. Their chest felt like it was going to explode open, and to their embarrassment, they could feel their nipples start to harden. Oz’s hand had awkwardly landed between their legs, and they resisted the urge to shift forward and grind. Fuck, they needed to get laid. They were aroused enough that Veran could smell them? This was so unprofessional. But Veran wasn’t angry for some reason? He was calling them Ozzie?

 

Oz felt Veran staring at them as they kept their eyes glued to the floor. Laughing, they started to attempt to brush the whole thing off, lifting their head to met Veran’s with a charming smile.

 

Big mistake.

 

Oz’s eyes traveled up Veran’s long, toned legs. A scale or two dotted the inside of their thighs as they met, and Oz wheezed at what they saw. A hefty, double-headed cock was beginning the harden in between Veran’s legs. Almost as thick as a fist and trailing halfway down Veran’s long thighs, the ruddy heads of the gorgon's cock balanced two beads of precum as Veran stared Oz down between the gaps in their long hair.

 

Oz puffed up. Overwhelmed, they tried to laugh again but their mouth felt too dry. Working their lips, they blinked hard, locking eyes with Veran’s intense gaze.

 

“I don’t understand,” Oz chortled, winded and uncomfortable, “You don’t, I, we, _what_?”

 

Something Oz didn’t understand passed behind Veran’s eyes and he straightened his back. Then a more familiar Veran appeared.

 

Veran dropped to his knees, something Oz thought they would never see. His cock bounced against his chest as he strode over to them, and Oz was too stunned to do anything as he hovered over them and threaded his fingers through their hair.

 

“Shit, you’re so soft. I want to cum in you so hard,” Veran shuddered, pressing the bridges of your noses together.

 

Oz jerked, lips parting in surprise as arousal shot through their body. Their underwear began to mold to their pussy as they got wetter. Having the cloth stick to them felt so uncomfortable, like someone was just barely touching their arousal.

 

“I’m sorry,” Veran closed his eyes, “It’s the testosterone. You just look so fuckable right now. All of this fluffy plush fur. A delicate pulse. Your big eyes. These lips. I want to rub myself all over you."

 

Veran pushed a thumb past Oz’s lips, “Say you’ll let me?”

 

Oz quivered, completely speechless. They wanted to move so badly. Their body felt too tight, and Veran looked so smooth. Oz could hump on him for hours without getting chaffed.

 

 _What?_ Oz tried to get a hold of themself. This was all happening so quickly. Too quickly. Oz couldn't remember the last time they slept with someone, let alone Veran. It had been years. Oz could feel his cock press against their stomach and their legs instinctively twitched.

 

Veran nudged them to stay open, “You have a pussy today, I can smell it. I can smell how wet you are for me. I can fill you up. Feel me right now Ozzie. Do you think I can’t fill you up?”

 

“No,” Oz shook, eyes slitted as their nipples poked through their clothes, “I don’t doubt that at all.”

 

Veran dove forward, his lips pushing against Oz’s. Oz hungrily pushed back. Veran’s forked tongue worked against Oz’s in a desperate kiss. Want filled his eyes as his hair moved to coil around Oz, wrapping around their neck, stroking their hair and dotting their face with dozens of kisses.

 

One of Veran’s hands groped Oz’s ass as the other palmed their chest. Oz cried out, hips bucking as Veran rolled one of their nipples through their shirt. Their tits were small today. But their size didn’t make them any less sensitive, and Oz found themself digging their fingers into Vera’s shoulders.

 

Proud of himself, the Veran groped Oz even harder, working his penis into circles against Oz’s stomach as he molded his hand into Oz’s ass. His snakes kept Oz's head in place as Veran switched to his thumb and rubbed circles into Oz’s nipples. Oz whimpered, their legs paddling uselessly at the floor as they tried to grind against Veran. He smiled cruelly and grabbed Oz’s narrow hips, slamming them into the floor.

 

Oz squeaked, their pussy flexing uselessly into their clothes. They felt so empty. Fumbling with their shaking hands, they grabbed at  Veran’s waist, thumbs brushing over the sharp bones of his pelvis. They tried to pull him down closer until there wasn’t anything between them. But Veran yanked their hands over their head and lifted his hips higher, erect cock bobbing through the air.

 

“You’re an awfully big tease for someone always telling me to be more decisive,” Oz breathed.

 

Veran’s teeth graved against their chin. The grip on Oz’s wrists loosened. Veran sucked through Oz’s fur, leaving a huge hickey. The heads of his snakes were everywhere. There was one kissing Oz’s eyelid, another one grazing it’s rough tongue against their dimple, two nibbling their ears, one cutely pecking Oz's lips, a duo leaving two more hickeys on Oz’s neck and final snake nipping their eyebrow. Veran stared at Oz intensely as they moaned, nuzzling his nose against their's. Oz felt something damp start to collect on their clothes and managed to glance down.

 

Precum dripped off the heads of Veran’s cock, which seemed to rise and fall with his frantic breathing. Oz groaned and rub their legs together, watching Veran apparently struggle not to cum on Oz’s chest.

 

“Don’t look at it like that. Fuck Ozzie,” Veran hissed, and looked off to the side as his hips rolled. The confidence seemed to temporarily leave his eyes, replaced with irritation as he stared down the wall.

 

“What?” Oz mewed desperately, wanting more. So much more.

 

To Oz’s horror, Veran lifted his torso and leaned back onto his knees. He tossed his head back as he took one, two languid strokes of his cock, precum dripping from it in short streams. He rolled the heads together, spreading precum all over himself. Oz moaned, thighs spasming as they leaned up to pull the gorgon close to them again. Veran shouldn’t be dripping on the floor, they should be dripping on Oz, _in_ Oz. Veran’s hand stopped them, fisting their cardigan. Pinning them back on the floor, Veran worked his hips in an impatient circle.

 

“You’re not even undressed,” Veran laughed wryly, looking fit to burst, “And I feel like this. Get on my bed Ozzie.”

 

It took awhile for the command to register. Oz rolled over onto their stomach, still shaking. They tried to remember how their legs worked when Veran’s long fingers suddenly grabbed their crotch. Working his fingers through Oz’s clothes, Veran felt out where Oz’ lips were swollen over their pant's zipper. Pinching his fingers, Veran messaged them forward and over the crease. Oz cried out as their swollen pussy flexed again and again, rippling over their swollen clit. Moans spilled from their mouth as Veran humped against their ass, and Oz felt themself getting more dazed with pleasure.

 

“V-Veran, Hell . . . _a-ah_ , you feel so good. You feel so _good_. We haven’t done this, _ahhn_ , you haven’t . . . _shit_ , we’re on the floor _._ _Aahhn_  --”

 

Over and over Veran worked Oz’s pussy through their clothes. Oz’s forehead matted with sweat. They were too hot, Veran was too hot. Their whimpering grew shakier and more desperate. Oz trembled as Veran began to impatiently hump them, letting the full weight of his heavy body fall on Oz. Oz strained against him, trying not to let their thighs give out as Veran rasped out their name, his voice thick with desire.

 

“Don’t flash your fucking ass at me. I can’t be patient with your ass waving in my face. Fuck, you sound so cute Ozzie. Yes, I make you feel good . . . remember that, fuck. I can make you feel so much better. You'd look so _good_ in white. I’m the best at it, because I’m the best at everything. No one else will _ever_ , ever, ever . . .”

 

Veran gritted teeth as they began to hump harder, faster. He picked at Oz’s underwear through their pants where it was fused to their pussy and moved it back and forth over their clit. Oz bucked back towards him, groaning loudly. They wanted more, just a little more. Falling to their elbows, Oz ignored their chaffed arms and let Veran drag them back and forth over the floor. Whimpering, Oz clawed at the polished rosewood under their fingers, squeaking and swearing as they got close.

 

“ _Veran_ ! Yes, _shit_ , please, j-just a bit more _, p-please,_ Veran, a-aah, _ahhh!_ M-more _, to the left, sharper, HARDER! Shit Veran-aah, it feels so GOOD.VER-AHN! I’M GOING TO --”_

 

Veran yanked himself away. Oz gritted their teeth, bucking their hips helplessly. Their legs were still splayed but there was nothing. No hand, no cock, nothing to rub up against. Blood pounded through their pussy as its lips swelled and rubbed against each other. Oz felt so damp. Sweat rolled down their back in frantic beads and their underwear was soaked.

 

“Veran!” Oz wheezed, “Please, Hell, stop being a tease. I was so close.”

 

“Get on my bed.”

 

Oz stopped. Veran’s voice had gotten deeper, smoother, like the calm before the storm. Before they could look up at him, he roughly grabbed a belt loop of Oz’s pants and turned them over.

 

Veran looked like he was about to explode. His chest heaved as he stood up, streams of precum running down his cock onto his glistening thighs. His snakes were twisting frantically as dark flush bloomed on his face and ran down his chest.

 

Veran pointed.

 

Oz somehow managed to stumble onto their feet. Turning around, they started to waddle, legs quaking as their underwear moved against their clit. Oz mewed.

 

“ _Bed_ ,” Veran hissed.

 

Oz’s head felt lighter and lighter as they approached Veran’s sheets. His bed was huge and circular, a fact that made it hard to concentrate on taking off their clothes. They could do so much rolling around. For years, Oz had seen Veran use it as a makeshift desk, spreading endless stacks of paper over the puffy comforter. Charts, spreadsheets, and hit lists had covered the expensive duvet, but the only business Veran planned on doing now was Oz.

 

They felt the edge of the bed, where the rich, dark purple fabric poofed up between small medallion buttons. It was so plush, and when they ran their now hypersensitive furry hand over it, it felt impossibly soft. A horde of pillows slid down from the giant headboard to the indent Oz made with their weight. As Oz kicked off their shoes and socks, they paddled their feet against their edge, sighing as they were exposed to the cool air. They were still burning up, but this was a bit better.

 

“Faster.”

 

A fist found its way between Oz’s shoulder blades, tossing them forward. Oz groaned, their cardigan rising up over their nipples as they skidded across the comforter. They began to flip over when Veran planted his hands on their ass.

 

“What did I say about this?” Veran said silkily.

 

Oz peered back flirtatiously, “You’re the one that tossed me.”

 

Veran smirked, running his tongue over his lips, “Nothing is ever my fault.”

 

Veran dug his nails into Oz's slacks and tore them down their legs, leaving warm trails down the back of Oz’s thighs. He messaged Oz’s slim legs, working his hands up and down before shoving them under Oz’s shirt. Oz mewed as Veran lifted it forcefully over Oz’s head, the buttons of their undershirt popping as Veran wrung it over their neck. Tossing it to the side, Veran flopped on top of Oz, pressing their lips together with surprising gentleness.

 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” He murmured, sucking Oz’s lip into his mouth and nibbling.

 

Oz groaned into the kiss, trying to catch their breath as Veran reached down and felt up their tiny tits. Soft, incredibly fine fur threaded through the gorgon’s fingers as Oz’s nipples continued to pebble. Oz gasped and flailed, eyes crinkling as Veran sucked a nipple into their mouth and flicked it between their tongue and teeth. Oz hooked their legs around Veran’s waist and rolled their own, struggling to grind against Veran.

 

“I could make you feel good like this all the time if you wanted, I could,” Veran rambled, muffled by Oz’s breast.

 

He sounded strangely self-conscious somehow, but Oz couldn’t focus on it. They were about to burst and to do it without something filling them up sounded awful.

 

“You could go ahead and do it now,” Oz whined.

 

Veran broke away from their breast and Oz almost screamed. Their frustration caught in their throat as Veran locked eyes with them, his gaze soft and caring. He parted Oz’s legs, hoisting them up under his toned arms to wedge them against his sides. A thill shot through Oz, starting at their clit and buzzing through their pelvis. Eyes slitted, they wormed impatiently, desperate for relief. Their stomach tingled.

 

“My perfect Ozzie,” He drew Oz’s underwear down their legs, adjusting himself.

 

“You’re going to take me so well,” Veran slapped his cock against Oz’s soaked entrance.

 

Oz squirted, trying to talk through their arousal, “What? Veran I can’t take all of that. I’m too tiny, you won’t fit.”

 

Oz had already imagined what it would feel like for Veran to slip part of himself inside them, while the other cock head moved back and forth against their clit. Veran seemed to have different plans. Pushing the two heads of his cock together he hissed, struggling to keep a level voice.

 

“Have you ever seen me fail at anything Ozzie? Do you feel how wet you are? Mate trust me,” Veran scented Oz, lapping at their neck as he drew Oz’s hands above their head.

 

Fuck, Oz just wanted to be filled. Oz lifted their hips obediently. They shook as Veran cupped their face and mounted them. They squirted again as Veran’s thick heads nudged their winking entrance, their body burning up. Veran made a triumphant rattling sound with his throat and plunged forward.

 

Oz screamed. Veran’s big, meaty heads rolled against each other as Veran pushed into Oz. He was impossibly big, but Veran buried his fingers in Oz’s ass and continued to shove himself into Oz’s slick pussy. Slowly, Oz’s body began to yield. Painfully, with a guttural groan from Veran that would be in Oz’s daydreams forever, Veran pushed himself inside. Oz’s cry filled the room, tapering off into an intelligible drawl of squeaks and whimpers. It hurt so good, stretched their body so much. It felt so vulgar, like something they had forced to fit, and it felt amazing. Oz wondered what Damien would think if he saw Oz plugged up and squealing, legs quaking around Veran. A wave of pleasure rippled through them.

 

Veran swore, hips shaking as he shifted his weight onto Oz’s wrists. Oz wasn't going anywhere, not that they wanted to. Veran was already leaking precum inside them and he hadn’t even moved. It was like he was afraid he might cum too early.

 

“You’re like a vice Ozzie. I going to fuck you up like a good sire should,” He kissed their check, “You’re going to be so full, mate, you’ll feel so used.”

 

Oz was pretty sure Veran was babbling but they didn’t care. Just laying there while nothing happened was torture. Oz bucked up, feeling Veran scoot inside them.

 

“Veran, move _please_ ,” Oz begged.

 

Veran smirked again, slowly pulling himself out. Oz whimpered shamelessly as Veran's heads dragged roughly against their insides. Just when Oz thought he would pull out, Veran shoved himself forward, stretching Oz all over again.

 

Oz yelled for more and Veran complied, ramming himself inside them over and over as Oz cried. Yanking Oz’s legs up and down, Veran sunk deeper into Oz as he crassly took them. Pain and pleasure shot from where he forced Oz open, the wet sounds of their pussy squelching drowning out the cusses Veran muttered under his breath. Oz’s legs went limp and Veran tightened his grip on their thighs, rutting Oz ragged as he dragged them across the sheets. Oz’s body bumped back into Veran’s huge collection of pillows, and they found themself tossing their head back over a throw.

 

Streams of precum leaked out of Veran’s cock. He pumped faster and faster as it began to well up, his grip on Oz’s ass becoming painful. Flushed and covered in sweat, Veran groaned shamelessly as he fucked Oz into his bed, whispering obscenity after obscenity into their ear. Oz felt weak as they roared towards their climax, their walls clenching tight. --

 

 _“Veran I’m coming!”_ Oz howled, pussy collapsing around Veran’s cock.

 

Veran shouted, baring his fangs as he burst, warm cum spurting into Oz’s abused pussy. Frantically thrusting, Veran pushed his seed deep inside Oz and created a mess all over Oz’s pelvis. As Oz continued to milk them, Veran let go of their limp legs and drew their chests together, letting their heartbeats hammer against one another. His chin nestled into Oz’s sexed up hair, breathing in the smell of their mess as he pulled out and painted Oz’s chest.

 

Veran collapsed on top of Oz, arms curling around them possessively. He was still cumming, thrusting his soiled cock back and forth against the white puddle beginning to mat to Oz’s fur. The constant stream began to break into little spurts, making sloppy lines over Oz’s breasts as he finished.

 

"Now you smell like me," Veran smugly over Oz, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

 

Oz was spent. They felt too used to summon the strength to close their legs. Their flush pussy split around Veran’s limp cock as he lowered his hips to rest on to of them. Oz mewed as Veran wiped at their filthy fur and brought the fingers to his nose. Deeply inhaling, he licked the digits clean and snuggled against Oz, turning over so they rested on his chest and spilling their mess everywhere. Oz was too tired to speak. They pressed their cheek into Veran’s collarbone, vaguely registering Veran’s snakes as they settled around their face. Oz felt fit to burst and defiled as Veran kissed them.

 

Oz wished it had stayed that way. 


	3. Polly Wraiths The Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz decides that Aaravi might not be the best fit for a protector.

Oz woke up in a hot sweat. The world seemed so blurry and small. Oz blinked hard and something wet rolled down their cheeks. Where their eyes filled with tears?

 

“So the rumors are true. At least partially.”

 

Oz jerked to the side. They were on a dusty, chaise chair covered in spots of dust. Oz sneezed as they tried to peer through the darkness. Wherever they were was damp and dimly lit. They could hear Aaravi, but Oz couldn’t seem to see where she was.

 

“Where are you?” Oz projected the question telepathically. Despite being asleep for who knew how long, they were still tired. Wonderful.

 

Following Aaravi’s voice, Oz looked up at the ceiling. The slayer had starfished herself above them, feet and hands braced against the walls. Before Oz could ask them what she was doing, the slayer raised her eyebrows suggestively.

 

Oz felt their face heat up as they remembered their dream. They’d buried that memory deep inside them a long time ago. What a time for it to resurface.

 

“I swear to the gods if you say anything,” Oz squeaked, sounding a lot more embarrassed than intimidating.

 

“I thought you said the Triumvirate is a formal arrangement,” Aaravi taunted.

 

“It is. I don’t know what you think you heard,” Oz puffed up.

 

“You look like an angry kitten,” Aaravi struggled not to laugh.

 

“Shut up!” Oz shrieked, their eyes tearing up.

 

Aaravi stiffened, “Whoa, okay, okay. Quiet down. Besides, I know what you like _now._ ”

 

Oz sputtered. On one hand, correcting Aaravi and trying to save any of their dignity meant giving away their one piece of leverage: the crush they faked in order to trick Aaravi to think they weren’t completely using their head. On the other, having the slayer think that Oz liked them on top of what she’d probably heard felt mortifying.

 

“I swear to the gods,” Oz hissed, tears rolling down their cheeks as they got louder, “If you --”

 

“Shut up!” Aaravi interrupted them.

 

Oz worked up the strength to conjure a mouth and fangs as Aaravi’s apprehension grew. Aaravi wildly shook her head as Oz prepared to bark at her, gesturing to the door with their head. Something clattered against the floor outside.

 

“Someone had broken in when we got here,” She whispered, “I was able to hide us in the closet but I don’t know who it is.”

 

Oz’s eyes widened. Terrifying possibilities flew through their head. It could be one of the enemies they had made in Hell who decided to track her down after their fall from grace while they were weak. Veran must’ve realized they’d run off with Aaravi by now and rebuked her. If he had really called Damien when they found Aaravi’s place, he must know too.

 

Oz shivered at the thought of Damien being on the other side of the door. Gods, that would be awful. Things might’ve gotten a little weird when they saw Veran raging at Aaravi’s front door, but they couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than nauseous looking at Damien’s furious face.

 

Maybe it’s because Damien’s anger was a little more aimless. Veran seemed to live in a constantly fluctuating state of pride and standoffishness. When he actually got angry, it was for a specific reason. Being furious at someone took time. Time was money in Veran’s world, and he hated wasting it on anything pointless.

 

Damien raged all the time. His targets ranged from people to inanimate objects. Since highschool it had gotten a little less intense. Instead of being genuinely upset, he was more malicious. He made fun for himself. Damien was the emperor of several circles of Hell. He could ask for whatever he wanted. Why not ‘blow up’ whenever he saw something that wasn’t perfect? It was a playful rage. Well, maybe it was just playful to Oz and Veran because they never had to worry about it being directed towards them.

 

Oz didn’t want to see that switch from gleeful to genuinely unforgiving. Veran might be their closest contact, bu for the past few years Damien had felt like their closest friend. He was a work friend admittedly, but Oz always adored the formal fun they had in their off hours. They didn’t have to whip up a presentation to convince him to go on a spontaneous raze or go to a fight club for one night. He knew Oz was good for it.

 

Oz liked that change. It helped them pretend that the interactions they had with Veran were special. Damien acted this way and Veran acted that way. Their relationships were different, but that didn’t mean one was better than the other. Oz couldn’t remember feeling a comfortable as they did when the Triumvirate had a slow day and spent some lazy time together.

 

“Those are all over now,” Oz muttered out loud, an invisible weight attaching itself to their heart.

 

“It’s not all over,” Aaravi misheard them, “I’ve got this place bobby trapped to it’s ankles. It’s only a matter of time before they set something off.”

 

Anxiety ballooned in Oz’s chest, “Really?”

 

Oz needed to escape. They needed to keep running. So they really shouldn’t be feeling bad about whoever it was getting hurt. But the thought of Damien or Veran getting their faces scorched off or accidentally activating some other defense mechanism sounded just as awful as getting dragged back to Hell. The desire to bolt out of Aaravi’s house and run to whoever was poking around pulled Oz back and forth. Squirming, Oz looked away from Aaravi, struggling to stay still.

 

_Snap._

 

Oz gasped as Aaravi pumped one of their fists. It sounded like a giant mouse trap going off. Oz imagined Veran screaming and Damien cussing in pain. Before they could even really think it through, Oz’s hands were turning the doorknob of the closet door.

 

“What are you doing?” Aaravi panicked.

 

“Ew, why is there a mousetrap in the corkscrew box?”

 

Oz stopped. They knew that voice. For the first time in days, genuine joy surged through their body. Beaming so hard their face hurt, they looked up at Aaravi and waved at her to come down.

 

“It’s Polly Geist!” Oz exclaimed.

 

Aaravi’s eyes flashed with recognition, “Why is she in my house?”

 

“Why did you set up a mouse trap as a bobby trap? Who cares!” Oz breathed.

 

Oz shook as they struggled to contain themselves. They hadn't felt comfortable for days. First there had been the week long trip on foot to Aaravi’s to try and throw off anyone who might try to track them, which had failed. Then there had been being with Aaravi, having to let her bathe them, having to manipulate her and cling to her body. Both of their gorging episodes had left them feeling uncomfortable, seeing Miranda had left them furious, and waking up to realize Aaravi had seen them writhing in their sleep had to be one of the most mortifying things in their life. Polly showing up had to be one of the best things to happen in a long while. Oz suddenly felt extremely lonely, and wondered what it would feel like to hug their old ghost friend again.

 

“What do you mean who cares? Don’t be so impulsive. This is one of my most hidden hideouts. Do you think she just stumbled in here for a drink?” Aaravi warned Oz.

 

“Considering who we’re talking about, that’s completely possible,” Oz said.

 

“Ugh, babe, can you open this?” Polly whined.

 

“Babe?” Oz paused.

 

Through the crack in the door, Oz peered down the hallway. They could see a bit of ravi’s kitchen to the left, and Polly’s transparent leg as she hovered in front of some drawers. A huge shadow hovered over her, but Oz couldn’t see who it belonged to.

 

“There’s someone else,” Oz told Aaravi.

 

“Who is it?” The slayer demanded.

 

“I don’t know, shush,” Oz strained their ears.

 

There was a distant pop, and Polly cheered as foam rolled under her hovering feet. Oz barely registered the smell of champagne and gagged.

 

“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” Polly chanted.

 

A dark chuckle, deep and familiar, rumbled from Polly’s companion.

 

“I have to keep my senses darling. You go ahead,” They hummed.

 

Polly squealed and leaned back in the air, a bit more of her body coming into view. She had ditched the loose fitting tank top and ripped up short shorts from high school for an extremely mini dress. Oz couldn’t help but think it was extremely low key for Polly until she turned around, revealing the dress’s extremely low back. Ass cleavage, nice. She also had a fairly tall pair of platform sandals, with a blurry glyph stamped on their backs. Oz squinted, struggling to put a name to the tiny picture.

 

“What do you see?” Aaravi whispered.

 

“Polly’s drinking,” Oz ran their fingers through their hair, thinking deeply, “I think I know the other person, but I can’t really remember.”

 

“Are they bad or good?” Aaravi grilled.

 

“I can’t remember!” Oz closed their eyes. This was ridiculous. The only thing they could focus on was hugging Polly.

 

The shuffling in the kitchen stopped. Polly’s floating stilled as her companion took a deep whiff of the air. The blood in Oz’s veins ran cold as the stranger rumbled.

 

“I smell the Emperor,”  Beelzebub growled.

 

Oz’s entire body spasmed, and they veered so quickly from the crack in the door that they whacked the back of their head into the wall. Stumbling to their feet on top of the chair, they grabbed at Aaravi, urgency filling their chest.

 

“We have to go. We have togo right now. I’m not strong enough to fight her, get down, get down,” Oz clawed.

 

Aaravi studied Oz worriedly. She was starting to look a little less cocky and a lot more afraid. Oz thought they might be able to summon their constructs and attack Beelzebub before she could zero in on them. They felt stronger now. Maybe it was the adrenaline.

 

Aaravi reached for one of the spikes on her belt, “Who is it?”

 

**“Beelzebub.”**

 

Oz’s eyes widened as Beelzebub’s echoed through the hallway. It was purposeful and direct. She knew they were there.

 

Before Oz could yell at Aravi for hesitating, Beelzebub's heavy footsteps were stomping down the hallway.  Oz pressed their back to the wall, hackles raising. Their back split open almost involuntarily, a puddle of goop pouring over their chair as their constructs exploded out of their back. Oz’s mouth split into existence as Aaravi’s fearful yelling became muffled, Oz’s constructs filling up the entire closet. Foaming at the mouth, Oz barked as Beelzebub threw the door open. They were cornered.

 

Beelzebub flexed their entire body as they burst out laughing, the veins crawling up her neck stopping just short of her mouth. Her gigantic insectoid wings stretched past the doorway, and all fifty of red eyes rolled forward in her head to look at Oz. Her thin tongue flicked out as she tasted the air, the chitin of her buggish body bulging out to compensate for her huge muscles.

 

“Ozymandias, advisor to the Boss of the Indebted, Foolhardy and Weak. The left hand of the Oberlin crime kingdom, the first of its name, which eviscerates all who seek to challenge it. Tongue of the Red-Eyed Gorgon, Butcher of the Timely Stoned, Coroner of the Crass and Boot Heel of the Nine-Headed Ophidian,” Beelzebub boomed.

 

Oz tried to shrunk into their corner as Beelzebub leaned forward, her long antennae brushing past their constructs. Oz ordered them to tear at them, but their sharp needle like teeth harmlessly glided off the sensory appendages. It was like trying to gnaw a greased up pair of metal pipes

 

“Lieutenant of the Pyromantic Emperor, Blank Eyes of the One-Horned Tyrant, Fangs of the Red Infantry, which decimates all who dare to resist its might. Pitchfork of the Fields of the Damned, Holster of Massacred Ashes and Empress of the Eighth Circle,” Beelzebub's eyes flashed, “I haven’t seen you in a long while.”

 

Oz blushed, trying to stay focused, “I think your memory is a bit rusty.”

 

Beelzebub tipped her head tauntingly, “You sure smell like an Empress.”

 

Oz bared their teeth, “What are you doing here?”

 

Beelzebub raised her hands, “You sound so accusatory. Can’t I seek the help of one of the monster world’s greatest slayers for some alcohol for my girl ?”

 

“No, I just figured after you lost the eighth circle you’d be more in the market for someone who can teach you how to actually fight.” Oz spat.

 

Beelzebub lunged, slamming their fist into the wall over Oz’s head, “I didn’t lose the eighth circle!”

 

“You’re right. Your failure of a father lost his bid before you could even set your eyes on it,” Oz bit back.

 

Beelzebub’s eyes bulged as her smile strained, “Are you somehow suggesting your in-laws didn’t cheat?”

 

“Is that what you think whenever you lose?” Oz crossed their arms over their middle, “Everyone else is cheating?”

 

Beelzebub buzzed argirly, the sound of a thousand flies filling Oz’s ears with an angry hum.

 

“My father was a brilliant general. The LaVey’s were and are perverse, changing years of hellish tradition because they couldn’t get over their selfish urges,” Belzebub raged.

 

Polly’s voice floated over from the kitchen, confused, “Babe? Who are you screaming at?”

 

Oz fluffed up, a glaring white light shooting out of their eyes as their constructs bit at Beelzebub’s sides. Little nicks started to appear in Beelzebub's natural armor, but her eyes never moved from Oz. Anger like Oz had never felt before began to well up inside them. Love was a ridiculous notion, considering who they were, but it always seemed a little less silly whenever they spent time with Damien’s fathers. There was something about seeing the two happy older men that made Oz’s heart ache, and turned them into a bit of a masochist. They couldn’t remember a single time they left an afternoon out with the old married couple happy, but the thought of ever canceling on them felt ludicrous.

 

“Damien says love is one of the most badass things in the world!” Oz argued.

 

“Not with another general. Not in a team,” Beelzebub grabbed Oz’s nose, “The constant fighting in Hell kept everything in balance. The old bidding for the circles was the natural order. Lone general against lone general. Love can’t be sought among _rivals_. Ignatius LaVey carried out his campaign against Azazel Mephisto for too long until the intense hatred fueling his espionage petered out. Instead of admitting he lost his edge, he continued spying for the sake of appearances and ended up tricking himself into thinking information gathering was intimacy. He tricked himself into falling in love and he made Azazel fall right with them.”

 

“Beelzebub what the Hell are you doing!” Polly shouted as she started racing down the hall.

 

Oz clawed at Beelzebub’s face, caught off guard. Struggling to breath, they roared and kicked the side of Beelzebub’s face, wheezing as she let go, head reeling back.

 

“Someone’s sunk a lot of money into buying their own bullshit,” Oz said hoarse, raising their hand.

 

Oz’s constructs straightened and shot forward, curling around their body and gliding over their arm into the hallway. Beelzebub gurgled as she was caught up in the barrage, and Oz distantly heard the sound of her body smacking against the wall. Aaravi’s unconscious body fell from the ceiling, her face flushed from being smothered by Oz’s constructs. Oz moved to check her pulse when Beelzebub’s head exploded out Oz’s writhing mass. Yelling, she swung her fingers into the wall, ripped out a piece of wall and hurled it at Oz.

 

“No more heirs!” She spat.

 

Oz’s eyes widened, scrambling to get out the tiny room when Polly soared in front of them, grabbing the flying piece of debris and phasing out its mass. Oz bristled as it passed through them, Polly still holding on as it passed through the wall behind them.

 

“Polly!” Beelzebub pounded her fist into the hole she just made.

 

Her head snapped back to glare at Oz, still struggling to claw her way out of the shifting horde of constructs wriggling around her body.

 

“What did you do? Why is she helping you?” She buzzed.

 

“Get bent,” Oz ducked out of the closet and started running.

 

This thing with Aaravi was over. Being with the slayer hadn’t led to anything good. They needed to be somewhere safe right now. This was all too dangerous. Something frantic inside them told Oz to just run as fast as they could.

 

Oz scowled as they fought against their instinct as they went up the stairs. They still didn't know what was wrong with them. Running would only do them so much good if they ended up passing out and never woke up again. When did they start running anyway? They came to Aaravi so they could help themself. Were they cowering now?

 

A huge thud echoed through the house. Oz’s constructs came surging back to them as a heavy pair of footsteps pounded out after them.

 

“Where are you running to? The LaVey’s heir? Such a boy shouldn’t exist and it shows in everything he does. Why did you run from him in the first place if he lived up to their twisted legacy? The rings of Hell aren’t supposed to be passed down. I won’t let you escape! It’s not happening again!” Beelzebub shouted.

 

“What are you talking about?” Oz panted as their legs started to feel more and more tired. They couldn’t keep going like this. They needed a place to hide.

 

Beelzebub exploded through the wall, her body covered in dust. Chest heaving, she lunged onto her fists and dove at Oz, wings buzzing. Oz shouted as her gigantic hands dug into their hips and slammed them into the floor. Beelzebub punched their cheek and pain exploded through Oz’s head as it bounced against the floor.

 

“Die Empress!” Beelzebub screamed, clapping her hands together to make a gigantic fist.

 

Oz frantically kicked out, sliding back against the floor as Beelzebub brought her fists down. Something in her hands popped. Oz dizzily stumbled to their feet as she screamed, struggling to find an exit. But all they could focus on was how much their head hurt. Beelzebub lunged again, hands going for Oz’s throat. Ripping vase off a display shelf, Oz smashed it against Beelzebub’s face, laughing as the insectoid screamed. A dozen shards managed to impale themselves in her eyes, and seeing someone else in pain after the week they’d been having felt satisfying in a vindictive sort of way.

 

Oz kicked Beelzebub again, their foot crushing her nose. She howled, grasping at the smashed remains as she staggered to her feet. Oz grabbed her shoulders as she got to her knees, shoving her back over the top of the stairs. Beelzebub struggled to swear as hemolymph poured down her face into her mouth, her shoulder knocking against the banisters. Her weight sent her body tumbling over her head, and Oz heard a loud crack as her flailing legs whacked against the wall. Wailing, Beelzebub tumbled to the bottom, landing in a tangled heap.

 

Oz fell to their knees, exhaustion tampering out her relief. The floor felt so soft. They could sleep forever. Beelzebub was taken care of. They could sleep now right?

 

Struggling not to cry, Beelzebub flapped her wings, lifting her broken body off the floor. Her leg bent at an awkward angle, and there was a gigantic bruise forming on the left side of her body. Trying to speak through the pain, she started to make her way back over the stairs, her body drifting left and right towards the walls as she struggled to focus.

 

“You _mutt_. How dare you. If you think this is going to stop my entry into the Broken Ring you’ve lost your mind,” Beelzebub reached, “I’ll destroy every terrible thing the Triumvirate ever made in Hell.”

 

She coughed up blood, “Starting right here. You’re body is going to be so broken it’ll feel like you were born out of a paper shredder.”

Oz stumbled back and crumpled to their knees. The throbbing in her head was unbearable. It felt like someone was squeezing their brain. They clawed forward but the end of the hall was so far away.

 

“I’m going to die here,” They realized out loud, pain rippling through their body.

 

_“Hoe, the only ghost in this house is me and it’s going to stay that way.”_

 

 _Polly?_ Oz registered her voice, but couldn’t see the ghost.

 

The inside of house turned intangible at once, transparency spreading from the floors to anything touching it. Oz felt a chill settle over them as the mass left their body and they became a clear outline. Beelzebub's eyes widened, looking down at the tangible ground as it rose up to meet the solid ceiling.

 

_“Polly n --”_

 

There was a sickening crunch as Beelzebub was smashed against the ceiling, her legs folding into her head. Oz gagged and looked away as the splatter passed through her, and watched everything turn the color of dirt as Aaravi’s house passed through the ground.

 

Oz felt lightheaded as the house started to rise again. They head Polly’s faint voice as they curled up on the floor. A comforting warmth fell over them as they became tangible again, and the urge to fall asleep became irresistible. Their eyes shut as the pain in their head urged Oz to pass out into unconsciousness where they couldn’t feel anything.

 


	4. Loving The LaVeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz's head still hurts, in another time and in another place where Oz was a little less delusional.

 

Oz’s head hurt.

 

Rubbing circles into their forehead, Oz groaned as the cultist continued to rant. Thrashing in the palace guards’ arms, the satyr screamed threat after half empty threat. After hours of behind chased through the labyrinths, the satyr’s once lustrous cloak was torn beyond repair, and his face was covered in filth. It was hard to talk anyone covered in bull feces seriously, much less someone who had been covering the outside of the castle in half-assed glyphs before Oz’s guards chased him underground.

 

Oz leaned back into their constructs, which were wrapped around the gilded chair in a huge braided ass of fuzzy, overlapping bodies. Oz scratched the back of one of their heads with their pinkie. The screaming suddenly stopped, and Oz lazily looked up to see their prisoner flaring his nostrils.

 

“Are you ignoring me?” He raged.

 

“No, I’m just done listening. You’re a public menace and not even an interesting one at that. This is the third time I’ve seen you graffiti Triumvirate property, and the fifth time you’ve horribly disfigured the employees that tried to get in your way,” Oz raised a hand to their guards.

 

“Toss him in the dungeon. Damien already finished up public executions today. We’ll save him for tomorrow. Slot him in before the murderous adulterers and the pompous fallen angel. He’ll warm up the crowd,” Oz yawned.

 

Fear flashed in the satyr’s eyes, not unlike the kind they’d seen in one of their harolds whose face flesh had sloughed off in one of his attacks.

 

A cold anger Oz knew shouldn’t be wasted on the satyr passed through their head as he began to shake. _Maybe you should’ve thought about the consequences before you started this pointless crusade._

 

“Ozymandias, don’t think this is the end,” He howled as the guards dragged him away, “Are you foolish enough to think I am the only one who is angered by the Triumvirate? Your titles are meaningless compared to the number of detractors waiting for their chance to rip you all apart. The Ophidian’s head will be shaved and the Emperor’s other horn will become a second-rate war trumpet.”

 

Oz stiffened, their constructs’ baring their fangs involuntarily. Straightening their spine, Oz glared the satyr into silence. Nothing escaped the Boot Heel.

 

“Drag him to the torture chamber first. It sounds like he has useful information,” Oz stood.

 

The doors of the throne room slammed shut as he cussed them out. Oz stretched but their body still felt tense. They hovered before their throne, reminding themself that they were supposed to act impartially. Dealing with prisoners was business, not revenge for two people who could take care of themselves.

 

Looking up, Oz couldn’t help but wish the rest of the Triumvirate were here. Their throne stood posed in the middle. It was simple, with a frame woven out of birch branches and soft white feathers for stuffing. It was essentially a nest made in the form of a chair, with two big cushions on the seat and where Oz put their back. The dark red velvet did nothing to match the regalness of the thrones next to it though, and the comfort Oz felt when looking at it felt a little silly.

 

Veran’s throne was essentially a fancy office chair. Covered in fine leather, the chair looked extremely plush thanks to the tiny gold medallions pushed into it’s cushions. Wide enough to seat two people, the curled armrests dipped as they curved into the rest of the chair, before arching up to make a high back. Veran had spent hours, even days, with his ankles crossed and nails dug into the armrests as he drilled people who disappointed him. It was like having an audience with a vengeful god who had systematized your execution.

 

Damien’s throne was might personified. A gigantic shield passed down from his father's was planted behind a big basin filled with white flags of surrender from generals and rulers who had fallen. It was surprisingly simple for Damien, with the biggest flag tossed over the front of the shield. Then again, Damien was dramatic enough for himself nowadays.

 

“Oz! Hey, do you want to spend the day with me and my dads?”

 

Oz swallowed as they heard Damien. Listening to his voice over the loud heartbeat pounding in their ears, they locked eyes with Damien and smiled.

 

“I don’t see why not,” Oz brushed their hair out of their face.

 

Oz turned and automatically lost their breath. Having his bright eyes looking at them felt like they had caught the attention of the sun. His sharp teeth were curved into a giant grin that sent excitement charging through Oz’s veins. His piercings made his face glitter. They could tell he had just sharpened his horn, which made him seem even taller than he actually was. The feeling of him towering over them felt like they were about to face a challenge, especially with his chronic slouch. He towered over them without even trying; a challenger with a natural advantage. Oz loved sparring with him, winning always felt like some sort of mythic victory.

 

 _Don’t think of sparring. Don’t think of sparring._ Oz told themself.

 

Too late.

 

Damien hadn’t worn a shirt since he graduated high school and asserted his dominion in Hell. A flurry of scars and old burns covered his chest in discoloration. Muscle turned his abs into something from an old war tapestry, and the way he tucked the end of his tail into the front of his pants made it hard not to think about what would happen in the general’s tent afterwards.

 

Guilt filled Oz. They’d been using professionalism to reduce the amount of casual meeting they’d been having with Damien. Oz remembered how disappointed he looked when he caught on, and how he actually looked a little embarrassed. And here they were, secretly doing the exact opposite in a place where Damien couldn’t do anything -- their head.

 

Oz redirected their focus to something a bit safer: Damien’s hair. Long and spiky, Damien had pulled his hair into a long, slick ponytail. The closest thing he had to a top was a shoulder pad made out of bloodied peacock feathers and a braided black sash situated diagonally across his chest. Oz only took a quick glance before they started staring at his chest hair.

 

“Is that from Drag Race?” Oz asked.

 

“Yeah,” Damien’s grinned, “I was planning on doing the whole get up, but it’s hard to rob graves in heels. I’ll do it next time.”

 

“Hard? That’s surprising Emperor. You’ve always been up for a challenge,” Oz teased.

 

“The fact that you actually said yes to me is more surprisingly, considering our schedule outside of work,” Damien raised his eyebrows.

 

Oz faltered, averting their eyes to avoid the accusatory look on Damien’s face. This wasn't the time for the bizarre mix of guilt and attraction they felt whenever Damien looked genuinely upset with them.

 

“Besides,” He smirked, forked tongue circling one of his giant fangs, “I know you can’t stop looking at my legs when I’m in heels.”

 

Oz stuttered. They were sure that they had managed to keep their gaze professional, that Damien had no idea. Not knowing what to say, they fluffed up and crossed their arms.

 

“Whatever, where are your dads?” Oz waved him off.

 

Damien’s smile got even bigger, his pupils shrinking sadistically, “Behind me.”

 

Oz jumped and immediately bent their back in an even, formal bow, “Your Majesties! I’m sorry for not speaking formally.”

 

Damien cackled as Oz straightened their back. Oz glared at him, dusting off their clothes. As he tossed his head back, Oz took a glance at his chest one more time before finally turning to look the LaVeys in the eye.

 

Azazel raised his eyebrows knowingly as Ignatius laughed behind his hand. Mortification surged through Oz. Oh gods, they saw.

 

“What’s so funny dad?” Damien asked as he looked up.

 

“Nothing sweetheart, come here,” Ignatius opened his arms.

 

Damien raised his hands, “Now dad?”

 

All four of Ignatius's dark, depthless eyes narrowed, “Did I stutter?”

 

Damien ambled over into the hug as Azazeal walked over to Oz. Oz lifted their chin boldly as he draped an arm over their shoulders, hiding the flurry of butterflies in their stomach.

 

“I’ll bring Oz back down once they’ve changed. You two have fun,” Azazeal turned them around.

 

“Father!” Damien groaned.

 

Oz guided Azazeal to their room, more than a little surprised, “I didn’t know I needed to change.”

 

“Well that is a fine suit you’re wearing. I’d hate to see it ruined,” Azzael rumbled.

 

Oz glowed, their constructs humming as they slithered back into their back. Azazel's voice was smooth and incredibly deep. They felt like they were being complemented by a dozen damned and well-dressed jazz musicians. Oz heard Damien laugh and glanced back to see Ignatius has slipped his son into a headlock. They blindly pushed open the doors just so they could hear it a little longer, swallowing a sigh when they finally stepped into the hallway. Azazel pulled them forward and Oz stumbled over themself.

 

“Sir?” Oz pondered.

 

“Ozymandias,” Azazel’s voice deepened twofold.

 

He drew them closer to his chest, and Oz’s hackles instinctively raised as Azazel drew their faces close together. Damien had inherited his razor-sharp teeth, and talking with Azazel's mouth so close to their brain felt like playing with a bear trap. His gigantic bat wings brushed against Oz’s back, hugging them to his side with leathery coldness.

 

“I’m only going to ask you this once, and I don’t want you to lie to me,” He frowned.

 

Oz straightened their back. Azazel had looked a lot less amused to see Oz staring at Damien. Did he . . . disapprove?

 

 _Disapprove of what?_ Oz laughed at themself. _There’s nothing._

 

“My son is one of the ballsiest people I’ve ever met. I never felt as confident as I did when he took the throne. He has the best blood, mine and Ignatius. If it wasn’t blue when we won our campaign, we’ve beaten it that way through years of beating our enemies into shells of their former selves. He’s the closest thing to perfect in Hell,” Azazel purred.

 

Oz’s legs felt like jelly as they stepped into a palace lift. Azazel paused as they ascended upwards as if he needed time to properly sort out everything he was about to say.

 

 _You’re not even close to being a fit match for a blueblood._ Oz imagined in his voice. _The Triumvirate must stay the Triumvirate, a professional triangle of power. Your wandering eyes are shameful. Damien’s been engaged since before he was born. You’re the least hellish thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on._

 

“Why hasn’t my son made love to you yet?” He sighed.

 

Oz wheezed, “Sir!”

 

“I’m dead serious,” Azazel leaned back as the doors of the lift opened, “I mean, look at this.”

 

He gestured to Oz’s room. The walls were layered with uneven birch logs like someone had taken the time to make sure they were curved perfectly so there wouldn’t be any gaps in the hexagonal chamber but didn’t care about the length or size. The floor was a carpet of curled velvet shreds. A gigantic curtained hole in the floor filled with black pillows was the last of Oz’s amenities.

 

Weapons, books and scrolls packed Oz’s quarters from wall to wall. Confiscated weapons of mass destruction hug from the ceiling in a cascade of sparkling gold and silver blades. A staircase of important books, treaties they had been looking through, new plans and ideas inched from the wall towards Oz’s little bed pit. Everything smelled strongly of ink, and a litter of used pens were shoved off into the corner.

 

“You’re obviously a huge hand in the Triumvirate. You and Veran are the best things to happen to Damien in a long time. Damien obviously cares for you both. He looks at Veran the same way. It’s a very fine match,” Azazel continued.

 

“Mr. LaVey _please,_ ” Oz warbled.

 

Striding into their room, Oz walked to the edge of their bed pit. It felt less like they were talking to one of Damien’s fathers and more like they were listening to every pathetic, drunken thought they’d ever had at the speakeasy. Was this some sort of test?

 

“I’m sorry, did I say something  wrong?” Azazel pondered.

 

Oz blinked hard, tears rolling down their cheeks. Were they seriously crying right now. Taking a deep breath, they dipped a foot into their deep bed.

 

“I-It’s not like that sir,” Oz tried to keep their voice even, “The Triumvirate is a partnership.”

 

Azazel started to argue, “A partnership that can --”

 

“And I’m not interested,” Oz cut him off, swinging their other foot forward.

 

Immediately, Oz sunk to their waist in pillows. Wiggling their hips, Oz sunk down, letting their shirt catch against the cushions and come off over their head. Grabbing it as they continued down, Oz’s feet met warm air and they fell into the chamber under their bed. Landing in a crouch, Oz stood up and peered at themself in the mirror.

 

“Good gods, no wonder he didn’t believe me,” Oz muttered.

 

They looked like a poodle after a sloppy blow dry. Oz’s fur had poofed up so much that their remaining clothes seemed about two sizes too small. Their chest had all but disappeared under all their unsettled fur. Oz looked as flustered as they could be.

 

 _How come lying fails me when I need it most?_ Oz agonized.

 

 _Because you shouldn’t have to lie in the first place._ Oz scolded themself.

 

Snorting, Oz smoothed themself over, ignoring the tingles that rippled through their body as they flattened their fur. This was all so ridiculous. What were they doing again? Preparing to go grave robbing?

 

Oz shedded off the rest of their clothes. Shimmying their slacks down their legs, Oz found themself grunting as they struggled to take them off. For a second they were extremely confused, until their hands brushed against a set of metallic scales and they remembered their belt. Fingers brushing against their zipper, they undid the big O clasp and slid Veran’s belt gift from their hips.

 

 _Don’t think about Veran, Hell._ Oz grit their teeth as they tossed the belt to the side. But it was a bit too late. Months had passed, but the night of Veran’s transition was still fresh in their mind. Pulling their hair, Oz tried to banish the flurry of sensations that immediately flooded their mind. Heat blazed through their veins as their hips twitched, and they felt themself go half hard in their boxers.

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Oz spat, closing their eyes.

 

Their broad shoulders began to narrow as their hands shrank, and their dick dissipated. Oz steadied their breath as their smooth skin folded into lips, and Oz sighed as the heat below their hips turned into moisture. At least it was subtle now.

 

Running their hands over their arms, Oz increased their muscle mass until they looked less like a lythe runner and more like a bodybuilder in the making. Smiling, they forced their thighs to become bigger and muscular for lifting, expanding their hips to accompany the change. This was a little better. They felt a bit more powerful now, and they wouldn’t have to worry about Damien making them flustered.

 

Damien. Anger flared through Oz. Oz wasn’t quite sure how much he knew, or what exactly he was playing at, but he sure wasn’t helping. Feeling vindictive, Oz let their chest heave into one of their bigger pair of breasts.

 

Glancing around the mirrored room, Oz searched for one of the magically reinforced blood-proof peplum blouses Veran gave them and a thick sports bra. Slipping both on, Oz went ahead and put on a sharp fingered pair of elbow length gloves, and a long asymmetrical war pelt skirt Damien had given them as a joke. He had presented it as some throw away wrapping for a giant knife he had given them. It was only when Oz brought it to their room that they realized Damien had given them something else.

 

Slipping into a pair of combat boots, Oz grabbed said knife off the wall, tucking it under their belt behind their back. It looked like it was stolen out of a giant’s knife block, and Oz was sure Damien meant it and the skirt as a joke. Even though they bonded over knives in high school, Damien knew they prefered using their constructs and transformation skills. The short side of the shirt was so high that their underwear was almost visible, which was definitely not Oz’s usual conservative style.

 

“It is today,” Oz rolled their shoulders.

 

Glancing in the mirrors, they quickly grabbed a string of pearls from one of their jewelry boxes and readied themself.

 

Situating themself under the room’s entry ring, Oz jumped, grabbing one of the edges and pushing their fingers past the pillows. Grunting, they showed their hands upward and grasped the soft netting making up their bed pit. Pulling themself up, they burrowed through the pillows, and popped out through the top. Crawling towards the edge of their bed, Oz took the hand Azazel offered them and stood up. He looked them up and down, pressing their mouth into a thin line.

 

“Ah,” He nodded, “I see now. It’s a three-sided game. I made a mistake. I’m terribly sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

 

Oz visibly flinched, but there was nothing untrue about what he said. Not really, considering how all their interactions seemed to end and the way Oz was sorted in the pyramid. Even the rest of Hell recognized that Oz was essentially a “third”, their titles all stemming from what they did for the two others. They were _advisor_ to the Boss of the Indebted, Foolhardy and Weak. The _left hand_ of the Oberlin crime kingdom, the first of its name, which eviscerated all who seek to challenge it. _Tongue_ of the Red-Eyed Gorgon, _Boot Heel_ of the Nine-Headed Ophidian, _Lieutenant_ of the Pyromantic Emperor, _Fangs_ of the Red Infantry, which decimated all who dare to resist its might. They existed only as aid or an extension to the real people in charge. They were a tool. Thinking anything more was a game. That’s why Damien pretending to be really interested in them was fun for him. That’s why Veran sought them out only for it to never lead to anything.

 

They respected Oz as a colleague in a way, nothing more, nothing less. A casual friend maybe, considering how well they got along. But tricking themself into thinking they could be something else was stupid. There was no way it could lead to anything good. Especially when people like Azazel saw them and jumped to conclusions. Being reminded of what couldn’t be was terrible.

 

 _So why am I still doing this?_ Oz asked themself.

 

“Let’s go!” Oz chirped to Azazel before they could answer.

 

* * *

 

“Damien?”

 

The demon grunted as he wrestled Ignatius, pulling at his father’s arm. He tried to look up, but Ignatius still had him in a killer headlock. Ignatius grinned up at his husband in a way that said, “Well?”

 

 _They talked about Azazel bringing everything up before they got here._ Oz realized, embarrassment surging through them.

 

Azazel shook his head, turning Oz’s mortification into pain. Could they still go through with this afternoon?

 

Ignatius frowned and released his son. Grumbling, Damien rolled his neck and looked up.

 

“Damn dad, did you really have to hold me for that long?” His eyes landed on Oz.

 

Damien blushed, his brow furrowing. Awkwardly placing his hands on his hips, he slowly took the spaded end of his tail out of his pants and let it hover thoughtfully in the air.

 

“You . . . put on the skirt?” He sounded confused, and strangely angry.

 

Oz lifted their chin, “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“It was a joke!” He suddenly yelled, “I didn’t expect you to actually put it on.”

 

“Why not?” Oz barked.

 

“Okay, okay, let’s get going,” Ignatius took his son’s hand.

 

Azazel swept his wing behind Oz and guided them out the door. The atmosphere as all four of them stepped into the carriage outside felt weird. Oz sandwiched themself next to the door, leaving a huge gap between themself and Azazel. Ignatius kept glancing between Oz and his son, before leaning over to Azazel and frantically whispering in his ear.

 

Eventually, Ignatius leaned back into his seat. An awkward silence settled over the carriage and Oz suddenly got the urge to break it. Its presence felt accusatory somehow like there really was something unspoken going down.

 

“I haven’t been able to find Beelzebub yet,” Oz admitted to Damien, keeping a straight face.

 

“Oh, we’re talking about business now?” He growled.

 

“Considering she’s the reason your parents had to move to a secure location, yes, we are talking about business related to your crazed rival,” Oz crossed their arms.

 

“Don’t do that!” Damien stood up as much as he could, back bent as his horn glanced against the top of the carriage.

 

“Do what? Protect your parents?” Oz narrowed their eyes.

 

Damien opened his mouth before snapping it shut, his teeth clicking together. Nostrils flaring, he seemed to forget his fathers were with them as he began to scream.

 

“Fine, tell me about what you didn’t accomplish!” He yelled.

 

Oz bristled, “I tracked down a satyr earlier. At first, I thought he was just a menace, but after a few minutes of his ranting, I realized he knew more. I told the guards to bring him down into the chamber. I think he might have ties to Beelzebub. He mentioned the . . . detractors.”

 

Damien quieted. He fisted his hands as his eyes blazed, but his expression was far from the unrestrained fury he used to unleash in high school. The furrow in his brow was more thoughtful, and Oz could see his mind shift from anger at Oz to general frustration.

 

“You’d think a bunch of lame asses called the Broken Circle would be a bit more broken,” His nostrils flared.

 

“Well a good portion of them do come from Veran’s old prom cult,” Oz looked out the window, “You know his tastes. If they weren’t good at being a secretive, elusive cult he wouldn’t have recruited them for his. I went ahead and scheduled his execution.”

 

“Yes!” Damien pounded his fist against his knee, “That’s what we need. No one else has a stick as far up their asses as these fuckers. I don’t want anyone else thinking they can get away with it. I want a manhunt for every single one of these chucklefucks, and the most gruesome deaths possible. We need all out war. When we get back, I want you to change this guy’s execution. Don’t put him in the guillotine, toss him in the _Colosseum_.”

 

“That would send a Hell of a message,” Ignatius punned.

 

“Dad,” Damien groaned.

 

“That’s a brilliant idea Emperor,” Oz added. It really was.

 

Damien scowled at Oz, planting his hand on his knee as he leaned forward, “Tomorrow, we’ll redirect all of the efforts of the guards working outside the castle towards cracking down on Broken Circle activity.”

 

“Okay,” Oz said noncommittally.

 

“You, Veran and I will start touring through the city to intimidate everyone into behaving correctly in their stead,” He added, a demented smile stretching over half of his face.

 

Oz blinked hard, “Do you think Veran will agree to that? Considering his schedule, I doubt he would just go with a change you want in his schedule Damien.”

 

Damien gave a hard laugh, “I’ve already talked about this with him. He’s on board. We agreed it’d be a great opportunity to figure out why you’re acting so fucking weird.”

 

Damien lifted his chin victoriously as Ignatius gave a long, slow exhale under his breath. Oz could tell Azazel was looking at them, but they refused to make eye contact with anyone. Damien’s comment had petrified them. Oz seemed to have lost the ability to stop looking at their feet. They’d always been able to tolerate this game between the other two in doses. The idea of being taunted for days on end with the two people they spent hours gazing at sounded worse than any of the minimum wage slaves in the torture chambers could think of.

 

The haunting scenarios in their head were replaced by horrifying howling outside. As the carriage stopped at one of Hell’s biggest cemeteries, Oz comforted themself with the idea that the few million souls outside were having a much worse time than them.

 

Oz shivered as Azazel opened the door for them. Damien snorted and Oz resisted the urge to glare at him, straightening their back to strut out with their exposed leg. A part of Oz felt victorious when they felt Damien staring until the screaming from the graveyard stole his attention away.

 

“Please! Not New Jersey!” A spirit wailed.

 

The coroners ignored her, pushing her towards an open grave with their pitchforks. A giant sword ran through her torso where her lungs would be, and a small chain ran off the end of the hilt on her hip.

 

“The old bitty tried to stab someone by surprise and got run through with her own sword,” Azazel hummed, amused.

 

“Ha, ha!” Damien and Ignatius high fived.

 

One of the coroners whirled around, their wings blaring out, “Ringleaders! Disperse from the graveyard immediately.”

 

His partner joined them, lifting his pitchfork from the cornered spirit to point it at them, “There will be no grave robbing for your realms tonight.”

 

The carriage immediately speed away, the hellhounds at the helm chasing an animated skeleton that managed to crawl out of their grave. Azazel trailed his fingers over his horn and they began to spark, like flint being struck against wood. By the time they reached the top, a small trail of flame was circling the tips. Azazel pinched it off, creating two grandiose whips of purple fire.

 

“No one gives orders to Azazel of the First Legion!” Azazel boomed.

 

“Yeah babe, fuck it up!” Ignatius roared, his incisors doubling half their size.

 

As one of the coroners pissed himself, the other dropped his pitchfork entirely and ran for the hills. The impaled spirit stared as Azazel and Ignatius as they descended upon the coroner who pissed himself, before high tailing it in the other direction.

 

“She’s getting away!” Damien drew his tail from his pants, flashing the razor sharp end.

 

 _Oh fuck._ Oz ran past them, grunting as they let their back split. Letting themself be distracted by the escapee instead of how Damien’s  fly had become unbuttoned, Oz waved their arms, commanding their constructs to slip under their feet. Their feet left the ground as the constructs grew bigger like a giant black, writhing wave. Oz heels hopped off the top of their moving heads, until they were running across the speeding swarm.

 

Oz let themself feel a little bit of pride as Damien whooped behind them. Narrowing their eyes, Oz quickly began to close the gap between themselves and the woman.

 

Huffing, she wrapped her hands around the hilt of her sword, “I’m not getting reincarnated into a stupid social worker in New Jersey. I’ve got a bunch of dead kittens to torture my nieces’ nightmares with!”

 

 _“Kittens?”_ Damien shouted incredulously.

 

 _What a waste of cruelty to send back to the land of the living. That compromise Satan the First made with Heaven is awful. Reincarnation for minor offenses? Gross._ Oz reached out with their hands.

 

“If you’re willing to drop the kittens --” Oz started to offer.

 

“I did! Off a ten story building,” She cackled.

 

“We got to kick her ass first,” Damien laughed, speeding past Oz on all fours like a rabid dog.

 

Oz watched his ears press back against his head as his sharp smile stretched to cover half of his face. Lunging forward, he lifted his middle finger and shot out a gigantic ball of flame before skidding into the dirt. The fire split into a few dozen knives, and Oz slowed to watch each one rip through the poor spirit.

 

A bright light blossomed from each of the knife marks until the escapee was glowing like a Christmas tree. With a high pitched pop like a balloon, she exploded with a pain-filled scream.

 

“Good gods Damien, what did you do?” Oz slowed, letting their spirits dissipate under their feet.

 

“I must have eradicated her soul from existence,” Damien looked down at his hands in wonder, “Holy shit, that must be the raddest thing I’ve ever done.”

 

He looked Oz up and down, before flashing Oz an old flirtatious smile that filled them with rage, “We could change that if you wanted to.”

 

Oz’s jaw worked. Nostrils flaring, they curled their fingers and resisted the urge to claw Damien’s eyes out. Trying to keep their breathing steady, Oz looked at their feet, choked up and burst into tears.

 

They were fucked. Their career was fucked. When did they get this emotionally invested in these two idiots that their games felt like dying? The only thing they were supposed to invest in was stocks, bonds and illegal offshore shell companies.

 

“Whoa, what the Hell,” Damien hesitated, “What did I do?”

 

“Fuck you!” Oz shouted hoarsely, angrily whiping at their eyes, “You always do this to me!”

 

“I can end it for you dearie.”

 

Hot, searing pain split across Oz’s back. A thousand screams tore from Oz’s throat as they crumpled and clutched at where they were used to their constructs coming out. The invisible seam immediately began to gush dark fluid as the very not eradicated spirit’s sword hovered in mid air. Her hand slowly reformed around it as she cackled, the rest of her body glowing back into existence. Oz vaguely registering her cackling through the high pitched ringing in their years. A strange sort of fog had settled in between their ears.

 

A earth shattering roar broke through the bleariness as Damien exploded. Fire shot out of his eye sockets and consumed his body like it was a piece of timber, and the claws of his hands lengthened until he looked like something that crawled out of a hell pit. Flaring his nostrils, the flames consuming his body turned bright white until Oz had to look away. There was blood curdling scream as he dove forward, and as Damien somehow managed to bite down on her torso, the skin around his fangs ballooned up. Shrieking through strangled breaths, the woman’s throat bubbled up s her face became huge and swollen. Her arms became huge, deterred only by the rapid swelling of her forearms which quickly pushed back and folded against her expanding biceps. Spider veins developed over her torso as the buttons of her shirt popped, and just when Oz thought her legs would explode, her entire body burst in a blast of bright flames and veins.

 

The smell of burnt skin filled the air and Oz rolled onto their stomach, gritting their teeth as they tried to steady their breathing. Closing their eyes, they tried to ignore the pain. It wasn’t even that bad a wound, but it stung so much. It felt lie someone had dragged a lemon slice down a huge paper cut.

 

Someone warm picked them up and tried to turn Oz over in their arms. Oz writhed, nails digging in their skin. The smell of brimstone, leather and blood filled their nose. Damien?

 

“Shit, fuck, dammit Oz, _shit_ ,” Damien hissed, smoke streaming from their mouth as the flames covering his body died.

 

“Dad, father, fucking _help_ me!” He yelled, running in the other direction.

 

Oz bit their tongue as his running jostled the cut in their back, but if they told Damien to put them down they doubted he’d listen. The really didn’t want to go through several minutes of him clumsily adjusting himself. Closing their eyes, Oz felt Damien pass them to someone else, and they became weightless.

 

* * *

 

Oz slowly came to in a nest of pillows. Their nest of pillows. Absentmindedly they stretched, and the bandages wrapped around their middle shifted. Wincing, Oz gently ran their hand over them and looked to the side, where the smell of literal danger was starting to fill their head.

 

Damien, what was Oz going to do about Damien? Crouching over Oz’s nest, Damien gently cradled Oz’s foot as he ran a fine brush through the fur of their exposed leg. Oz could feel the knots come out as he brushed the fur to a bright sheen, and as it resettled on their body, Oz couldn’t help but feel like they were covered in satin. Gently, he shifted his rough hand down towards the heel of their foot, massaging his fingers into Oz’s arch. He had a stupid, sexy scowl on his face that Oz couldn’t stop staring at. Damien hadn’t changed since the outing. He was still bare-chested, with a half fly that made him look like he was going to pull off his pants and slip into bed. Oz stared at it unblinkingly, until an unholy rage surged through them.

 

“Don’t touch me!” Oz wheezed, shoving him away.

 

Damien fell back on his ass, brush skidding across the floor. His calm, almost heated expression slipped away as he bared his teeth and arched his back.

 

“That is it! Why are you so fucking weird? You’re being such an asshat right now. I didn’t even do anything!” He hissed, tail lashing.

 

Oz breathed through their nose as tears immediately burst from their eyes. They could usually be casual about the way they acted around each other but right now it was all too much. Oz felt like they were out of steam.

 

“Stop playing games with me. I hate this. What am I to you?” Oz agonized, burying their fingers in their hair.

 

Damien stopped, his tail going lax. Relaxing, he slowly dropped to his knees and inched forward, his fists awkwardly resting in his lap.

 

He was still scowling, “You don’t . . . know?”

 

Oz paused, chest heaving as they tried to steady their breath. Was this another game?

 

Damien lunged forward, his big hands cupping Oz’s face. Thumbs gently drawing circles into Oz’s hairline, Damien shoved their lips together and let his body fall on top of Oz’s.

 

Heat radiated off of Damien’s body as he gently worked their lips together. Damien’s tail slithered around Oz’s waist, drawing them even closer, and Oz instinctively wrapped their legs around his waist. Their teeth clicked together as Damien devoured their mouth, and Oz whimpered as their tongues lashed against each other. Oz felt lightheaded as Damien finally pulled them apart, panting on their face.

 

“You’re one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen,” He rumbled, “Why do you think I was brushing you? You’re one of the two coolest things I own --”

 

“Own?” Oz muttered, eyes glittering.

 

“Yeah, you’re mine,” Damien snarled possessively, pressing his nose into Oz’s neck.

 

Oz shuddered as he grabbed their hips and began to gently dot Oz’s neck with hickies. Brow still furrowed, Damien carefully worked their claws over Oz’s body, gliding them up and down Oz’s sides. Their fur furrowed under his scarlet fingers, sending shivers through Oz’s body.

 

Dragging his tongue up Oz’s neck, he slid their lips back together with surprising gentleness. They struggled to breathe as Damien took his time exploring their mouth, his forked tongue dragging against the top. Oz could feel Damien smirk as Oz’s nostrils flared.

 

“Out of breath?” He taunted.

 

“Nervous?” Oz panted back, “Something about this doesn’t seem very Damien.”

 

Damien’s expression softened, “Why not? The only shit I bust up is so lame it’s destined to be destroyed. You’re incredible, like fire fucking a knife. I got to handle you with care.”

 

Oz’s heart felt like it might explode out of their chest, “Gods Damien, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

 

“I can say a few dozen more if you want me to babe,” Damien brought Oz’s hands to touch his chest.

 

“You are not about to whisper poetry in my ear,” Oz stared at his pecs. Was this actually happening?

 

“No, not that,” Damien trailed a finger around the collar of their blouse, “Though these tits make me want to. Satan bless Veran for getting you this shirt.”

 

“Satan? His Emperorship wants to invite another demon into my bedroom?” Oz shook as he began to pull down their zipper.

 

Damien glared at Oz, “Don’t call me Emperor.”

 

“Why not?” Oz bit their lip as their breasts slipped out of their top.

 

Damien yanked it off, “The Emperor isn’t about to make love to you, Damien is.”

 

Oz croaked. Slipping his hands under Oz’s bra, Damien smiled deliriously as he hardened again Oz’s leg. Burying his hands in Oz’s tits, he carefully massaged Oz as they cried out. Humming, he pinched their nipples upward and sucked one into his mouth, gently teasing it with his teeth. Tightening his tail around Oz, he sent waves of heat spiking through Oz’s body until they felt light headed. Groaning happily, he buried his hand into Oz’s back and pressed them against his crotch. Oz moaned as they felt him throb through his pants, hands grabbing at his shoulders as he sucked harder.

 

Damien licked over his teeth marks, lavishing Oz’s chest with wet heat. Rocking their hips against his, Oz squeezed their eyes shut as they complained.

 

“Just, just take it off already,” They asked breathlessly, “Come on Damien, please. It’s too much. Too much fabric, just, it’s too hot.”

 

“Yeah babe,” Damien wasn’t even teasing anymore.

 

Looking agitated himself, he tugged at Oz’s crumbled bra until it popped off their body. Rubbing away the lines it made in their fur, Damien nipped until fur started coming off in his teeth, and Oz could see the hickies he was making over their body.

 

“Shit, you smell like Veran,” Damien closed his eyes, pushing his pants against Oz and letting his cock roll against his stomach.

 

Curling his knuckles, he dragged his fingers down Oz’s stomach towards the edge of their skirt. He smiled, lifting his twitching hips. Oz opened their mouth to complain, and Damien slipped his free fingers past their lips, shushing them as he rocked his hips against the air.

 

“I was so sure you were never going to wear this. I bought it for me but I knew it was too much to work as a joke. So I was so sure you would never wear it. The shortest things I’ve ever seen you wear are conference dresses,” He sighed, “Your legs are so pretty. Best belt I’ve ever worn, don’t you think?”

 

He dragged his knuckles to Oz’s entrance, “I think I could add a nice ring, don’t you think.”

 

Oz tried to laugh but it sounded more like a mewl, “You’re so corny.”

 

Damien wetted his lips, “Let’s hear you make coherent insults when you’re warbling.”

 

He nudged his fingers inside them, pushing apart Oz’s damp folds at a torturously slow pace. Oz sobbed, dragging their hands down his chest. Closing his eyes, Damien set his weight on top of his fingers, rocking his digits in and out of them with the movement of his hips.

 

“Aw yeah, that’s going to feel great around my dick,” He breathed, ears flicking as Oz squished around him, “You’re so fucking wet Oz, shit. Am I going to fit in you? I’m going to make myself fit in you, _ah_ , you’re so tight. Feel that?”

 

Damien slowed his stroking, gently gliding his fingers over the soft ridges of Oz’s pussy. Breath catching in Oz’s throat, they tried to answer until Damien pressed harder and they forgot how to form words.

 

“I feel those petals. I can’t feel the bud though babe, can you help me find the bud?” He grinned.

 

Oz could feel his thumb coming. It radiated just as much heat as the rest of his body, and as he nudged it past their folds, Oz could feel the warmth brush against their clit. Squeaking, they groped at his abs, desperately trying to hold onto their coherence.

 

“I’m close, aren’t I? I can feel you tensing up, _ah,_ aah right here isn’t it?” He lowered his eyelids, pressing down with his thumb.

 

Oz writhed, their feet shifting over Damien’s calves. Groaning as Damien purred in their ear, they grasped at Damien as he made a D with his thumb over and over again, slowly sinking his fingers in and out of their pussy. Oz squeaked as he humped against them in tandem, clenching onto his fingers as he torturously dragged everything out.

 

“ _D-Damien, ah, j-just, g-go, NAah, I-I just, Damien go faster please_ ,” Oz plead.

 

“I’m enjoying the show, don’t rush me,” He bit his lip.

 

Oz’s eyes rolled back into their head as he slowed, squirting into Damien’s hand. Stuttering, Oz began to flex around Damien’s fingers as his smile widened, back bucking against their pillows. Oz couldn’t decide what felt better: the thrusting of his fingers or the heat of his thumb. Rolling their hips, Oz felt the pressure build inside them as their forehead matted with sweat. Running their fingers over Damien’s body, Oz began to pant, waves of pleasure rolling through their body. As they tightened up, Damien’s thrusting slowed and he had to force his fingers in and out, the tracing of his thumb growing more sloppy.

 

“Damien, _Damien_ ,” Oz clawed at his shoulder pad.

 

“Just let it happen babe,” He rasped.

 

Oz fell apart on his hand. Keening desperately, Oz grabbed at Damien’s hair, tugging at it as they experienced one of the most powerful orgasms of their life. Their slick walls collapsed around Damien’s probing digits, and Oz struggled to keep their vision focused on Damien as the world spun. Relief sent every single one of Oz’s nerves of fire, and the exhaustion that immediately settled over them was so powerful that Damien had to tighten his hold on them to remind Oz not to pass out.

 

“Sweet fuck, the only thing hotter than you is that knife strapped to your back,” Damien unwound his tail from Oz and used it to help shove his pants off.

 

“No underwear?” Oz gasped for air, trying to laugh.

 

“If I’m going to be around you and Veran while still being productive, I can’t be wasting a whole two minutes trying to untangle my boxers from my constant fucking boner when I go to the bathroom to jack off,” He snarled seriously.

 

The walls of Oz’s pussy slid against each other as they clenched. Oz watched Damien as he lifted their leg and started trailing up it with kisses.

 

“I love this fucking skirt. I thought I’d never get you in it but it happened. You look like a prize babe,” He huffed.

 

Shifting his hips, he pressed his nose to Oz’s ear, letting his hands sink into the pillows on either side of Oz’s head. Running his fingers over Oz’s baby hairs, he gently pushed into them. Oz’s whimpers quickly turned into cries, and Damien’s satisfied chuckling quickly turned into a victorious roar.

 

Damien bent his back, trailing over Oz’s heaving chest with hungry kisses. Gripping Oz’s left leg, he began to thrust, panting every time he had to pull back. Every time he buried himself inside them he groaned into Oz’s shoulder. His hips became frantic as his hot breaths rolled over Oz’s soft fur. The warmth made Oz’s hickies sensitive all over again. Damien’s chest rubbed over them as he repeatedly impaled Oz against their pillows, and the sound of their bodies writhing against each other filled the room.

 

Oz struggled to breath, shakily putting their hands on his hips. It was too much but it was also not enough, and Oz wanted more, pulling Damien closer to them every time he glided inside them. Gurgling, they were caught off guard when he suddenly started kissing them, murmuring sweet nothings against their lips. Oz pecked back, their tongue slipping into Damien’s mouth to slowly wrap around his. Oz’s inner walls started to clutch more tightly to Damien’s cock. Grasping at Oz’s other leg, he pulled it closer until Oz began to sink lower on his cock. Squeaking every time they connected, Oz’s heartbeat began to fill their ears. Oz’s breasts crushed between their two bodies, nipples rolling against Damien’s sweaty chest. Sensitivity dominated Oz until they couldn’t hold back anymore, and Oz came with an overstimulated scream.

 

Damien’s pace slowed as their muscles constricted around his throbbing cock. Rolling his shoulders, Damien struggled to hold back as their pussy coaxed him to completion. Oz tightened and rippled over him, trying to get him to cum. Oz memorized the sound of his strangled grunting. Body shuddering, he peered into their eyes, obviously struggling to concentrate as Oz moaned. Swearing, he beat his tails against the pillows until something snapped and he hunched forward, giving in. His thick cock twitched madly as he shoved himself upward into Oz and let go.

 

Oz puled as they felt Damien empty himself inside them. Warmth filled them as he shuddered, still drilling himself in and out of Oz. He cupped their face as he filled them, eagerly groping their ass. As his stream slowed, he refused to pull out, letting cum well up around his cock as he sunk it deeper into their stuffed warmth. Dragging his hand down his sweaty face, he peered at Oz with the biggest shit eating grin they'd ever seen him have. Oz couldn't work up the strength to do anything but run their fingers down his chest, letting his chest hair tickle the tips of their fingers. Damien kissed their nose.

 

Fingering the pearls around Oz's neck as he spoke again, Damien chuckled, “It looks like someone’s finally topped the terrifying Ozymandias. Is this my prize?”

 

“You’re way sappier than I thought you’d be,” Oz chuckled, feeling spent.

 

Damien’s gaze was heated, “You’ve thought about me?”

 

Oz stuttered. For the first time, it struck them how totally unprepared they were to have this conversation. The possibility of this ever happening felt so out of reach that they never even thought it through. Suddenly they were shoving Damien out of them. They both cried out at the loss of heat between them, and Oz’s pussy immediately clutched at air, trying to find the cock that had just been stuffed in it. Oz immediately began to leak, cum running down their legs. Damien grabbed at them as they began to sink through the pillows, and Oz hugged themself as they dodged out of his grasp. Their fur dragged against the pillows as they sunk down, leaving the warmth of their bedroom for the mirrored closet below.

 

As Oz clumsily landed amongst their clothes, they could hear Damien trying to figure out how their bed worked. Somewhere between him cussing out the pillows and begging them to come out, Oz ambled out through a secret door, glaring at the unlucky guard to see them naked and sexed up to try and say _anything_ , just try.

 


	5. Between Heaven And Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz tells Polly everything.

“Good god, what did you do boo?”

 

Oz slowly came to in Polly’s arms, their eyes framed in sleep crust. Their fur was matted together with dried sweat, but they felt fare from uncomfortable. Waves of comfort traveled through Oz’s body. They hadn’t felt like this since Aaravi had bathed them, except there wasn’t an underlying sensation of fear and “bad touch”.

 

Yawning, they realized their constructs seemed to have materialized on their own and had draped themselves all over Oz’s body. Polly slowly scratched the head of one of them, her fingers gently messaging past Oz’s fluff to rub circles into their head. The construct yipped, sticking it’s tongue out of it’s mouth to lick Polly’s pinky.

 

Polly laughed. Her voice sounded carefree and musical. Nostalgia hit Oz like a freight train.

 

Oz had been enamored with Veran in high school in a way they just couldn’t explain. Everything they did up to that point they did with a certain boldness. They had grown up among monsters all their life, and they had seen how much lifespans could vary. Without know their own, it always seemed like they could drop dead at any second. Vowing to do everything with a passion had come easy to them.

 

That still persisted with Veran, but it became quieter, simpler. They hung out less with Damien, who they had an on and off again arson based friendship up until prom season started cropping up. Their threats became smarter, more well thought out, _charming._ Veran had been and always would be more cutthroat when it came to being smart. Damien stayed bold. As Veran’s work started to overlap with Damien’s, Oz morphed into something between the two.

 

 _Between_ . Oz frowned, turning their head. They had seen how Damien and Veran looked at each other. They remembered what had happened after Veran basically ghosted them post-prom, at least when it came to what Oz had believed to be a relationship. _No one’s actually gotten between those two._

 

“Oz?” Polly asked again.

 

Oz looked up at her with a smile, joy brimming inside their chest. They wanted to think about literally anything else right now, and gods knew Polly was the perfect monster to help.

 

Polly was like a shooting star in high school. No, scratch that.

 

Polly was like an _asteroid._

 

Oz spent everyday in high school and college working. Even with the way things had turned out, Oz couldn’t find themself regretting a moment of it. Basking in Veran’s hard earned adoration was like a drug. But every once in a while when tensions were high, usually at the end of the year, Oz wound feel their energy wane and Polly would come crashing into Veran’s business.

 

Polly’s magnetic presence brought gullible people, which brought Veran business. There was also the fact that Veran actually liked Polly as a friend, something Oz was sure he would only admit after he died. The raves that started as conferences for Veran would quickly spiral into a drug fueled dance confessional, and Oz thanked Polly for the few corny moments of adoration Oz got from a coked up Veran.

 

Oz’s heart had never raced harder. Their body never came so close to feeling like it was on fire.

 

Oz quickly tried to banish all thoughts of Damien from their head.

 

When morning finally came, and everyone was slowly waking up to get breakfast, Oz and Polly bonded over hangover mumblings and waffles. The quiet moments when Polly let Oz rest their head on their lap came way closer to caring than anything they were getting at home.

 

Oz’s eyes began to burn. Groaning, they slapped a hand over their face. Why were they so emotional lately?

 

“Oz, if you don’t start answering me I’m going to get worried.” Polly ran her fingers through their hair.

 

“Why the Hell were you dating Beelzebub?” Oz tried not to groan. Polly’s touch felt too good for them to get really mad at her, as serious as things might be. How long had it been since someone touched them?

 

Polly cringed, “A couple of months. She was good for booze. I had no idea she would try and murder you. What was all that about calling you Empress and ranting about the LaVeys?”

 

Oz flushed, “You heard that?”

 

“After I phased with the debris, I turned invisible and listened. So yeah,” Polly tipped her head.

 

“Beelzebub is a delusional denizen of Hell whose father lost his bid to rule one of the rings. She and Damien have been rivals since high school but she’s really started to go off the rail lately,” Oz purred.

 

Polly rubbed harder, “Why?”

 

Oz scowled, “There’s this inane group of dissenters growing in Hell called the Broken Ring. Some of them are from Veran’s old prom cult, but most of them are dispatched former rulers of rings and their lackeys.”

 

Oz moved their head, trying to get more of Polly’s fingers to move over more of their scalp, “The LaVeys already dealt with most of the backlash over forming a truce a long time ago, but the Triumvirate sort of . . . reignited it. We either deposed them on purpose when expanding Damien’s territory or new challengers rose up to fight them due to things moving around.”

 

Polly crossed her arms. The rubbing stop and Oz growled. Instinctively, they reached for Polly’s hand and lowered it back down. Oz was so starved for good touch they barely registered the skeptical look on her face.

 

“Oz, don’t yank my chain. It’s only for snorting heavy drugs and weird-ass sex,” Polly yanked their hand up, “I’ve been at a lot of revolutions. They have the best mobs, and mobs are down for everything. I had my biggest orgy at one. That’s how I died.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I heard what Beelzebub said. That can’t be it,” Polly frowned, “That can’t be it. No one gets that angry based on jut that. At least not in Hell. I saw a guy impale his son for stealing his sandwich, then summon his ghost to go see a movie in the span of five minutes.”

 

“Well,” Oz ignored the hurt and embarrassment that immediately ballooned in their chest, “There’s a chance that some of them might think we’re planning on more. A lot of people see the Triumvirate as more that a f-formal thing.”

 

Polly blinked, before her eyes lit up and she let out a loud gasp, “Omigosh, you and Veran and Damien are totally boning!”

 

Oz flinched, “No Polly, we’re not.”

 

Polly studied their face, “Is that by choice or . . . ?”

 

“It is now,” Oz took a steadying breath, “Veran and I used to date, but after prom he grew distant. Eventually it was clear he didn’t want me anymore.”

 

Polly immediately moved her arms around Oz’s shoulders, drawing them closer until Oz’s head rested against her collarbone. Oz made a tiny complaining noise and began to push away, but Polly tightened her grip and gave them a knowing look.

 

“Ok, I have snorted too much cocaine and started too many messes while I rode off the high to take anything you’re saying serious,” Polly hummed.

 

Oz’s face twisted as their breath caught in their throat. Polly sighed, pulling off her sunglasses and gesturing for Oz to say something. Oz started to make up something in their defense, but words failed them. Before they knew it they were full on ugly crying, struggling to speak between their words as Polly patted their head.

 

“Then this whole Damien mess started. Or maybe that was always there too. I’d know Damien since middle school before I started spending time with Veran. Maybe I had a puppy love thing with him, back when that was just sharing crayons and starting forest fires. I thought it was nothing but then Veran and I started spending time working with him and holy shit everytime I’m around him it feels like my body is on fire,” Oz wailed.

 

“Okay, okay,” Polly leaned back and lifted her shirt above her head. A lacy black bra was the only thing left covering her, and little packets of some white substance were tucked in around the edges.

 

Polly offered the shirt to Oz, “Blow.”

 

Oz trumpeted into the cloth. It smelled like booze and weed. Oz chuckled, their laughter broken up by their sobbing.

 

“I can’t believe you’re still partying this hard,” Oz sniffed.

 

“Polly Geist wills top partying when we reach the heat death of reality,” Polly pointed to herself, “It’s my job now anyway. You’d be surprised how much ringleaders will pay for you to drug, fuck, kill people who give them trouble.”

 

Oz’s eyebrows shot up, “You’re an assassin now?”

 

Polly tsked, “I don’t think that’s fair to say. Assassins plan shit. I just convince has-bins to do so much weed they tell me all their dark secrets and sometimes I’ll forget to dissipate the hot box when I leave. People who have lungs have it bad. Did you know you could get so high they can get too relaxed and lose the ability  to breathe? I didn’t know that.”

 

Oz felt like laughing, but the weight on their chest was too heavy to allow them to expel anything. Polly put her shirt to the side.

 

“But that’s enough of you trying to change the subject,” Polly said knowingly, “Let's get back to ‘body on fire’, m’okay?”

 

Oz wiped their cheeks, shuddering as they immediately dampened again, “Polly I really don’t want to talk about this.”

 

Polly pulled her hair out of her ponytail and teasingly flicked their arm with the band, “Well I really didn’t want to get holed up in the VIP section of Garterbelt trying to hide, but here we are.”

 

Oz looked around. The sheer curtains and the large, cushioned chaise they were lounging on suddenly made a lot more sense.

 

“Ah, we’re in a strip club. Makes sense,” Oz readied themself.

 

Their instinct told them to pelt Polly with questions. How had they gotten here? Where were they planning on going? Had Polly let them be seen?

 

But that training was Veran’s doing, and Oz really didn’t want to think about him right now. Still, after telling Polly about Damien -- at least partially, the idea of clamming backup felt impossible. The only thing that beat out the weight on their chest was the pressure climbing up their through, like a wave readying itself to pour out.

 

“I’ve always felt like love is a two way street,” Oz sniveled, “If all the people involved aren’t contributing then it’s not really love. Just infatuation, or something worse. I loved Veran once, when we were dating. Because we were _dating_. It wasn’t a crush.”

 

“That’s an awfully harsh way of looking at it. Also, no offense,” Polly made a face, “It sounds pretty delusional.”

 

Oz stopped, “What?”

 

“Tell me about Veran for a second, or Damien,” Polly asked softly.

 

Oz worked their jaw. This felt like a trap.

 

“ _Oz_ ,” Polly insisted.

 

“We’re the perfect set I guess,” Oz looked at their hands, “Damien everything his fathers could have wanted. Angry and active, he takes whatever he wants when he wants it. I’ve never seen someone revel in such violence. I’ve never seen anyone revel as hard. I feel like everyone in existence can be emotional, that ten is the threshold, and that Damien got an extra thousand points. I feel like there aren’t enough words to express just how hard he feels. He’s so passionate.”

 

Oz felt themself floof up. Polly humed curiously.

 

“Veran’s quieter, but he can match Damien tongue for tongue when he’s done with his slow burn. He has this way of stalking people, or things in general. He gathers information and you think he’s showing all his cards. He’s smug and confident and bold. Which is already sort of breath taking, but them he checkmates and suddenly everything explodes. All the pieces fall into place and then he’s laughing just as loudly as Damien,” Oz gushed, “I guess they’re both passionate. But I’d use intense to describe Veran.”

 

Oz ran their fingers through their fur, “So intense.”

 

“Holy shit you all fucked,” Polly gaped.

 

Oz grit their teeth, “No. They fucked me though.”

 

“Do you want all three of you to fuck?” Polly pried.

 

Oz hugged themself, struggling not to fall apart, “I don’t think it matters what I want.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Polly nudged them.

 

Oz pressed their mouth into a thin line. The comfort they had first felt from being with Polly was quickly going away, but they couldn’t find it in themself to be angry with her. There was something terribly therapeutic to letting this all out. Talking about the people they adored while knowing they would never be what Oz imagined hurt, it _always_ hurt. Keeping it inside felt like applying pressure to a bruise. Nothing would change if Oz told Polly why they knew it would all stay the same. But maybe they wouldn’t feel so awful. Living their life in the confines of Damien’s castle felt like screaming into an uncaring void. There was no one to talk to except the two people they were infatuated with.

 

“They’ve fucked each other,” Oz forced their voice to stay even, “Or made love. You don’t fuck on month long getaways with your lover.”

 

Polly opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but Oz talked over her, “After prom, once Veran stepped away from me. I figured I could live with it. I’ve gotten over worse. You’ve met my mother.”

 

Polly cringed.

 

“But then they started disappearing together. At first I thought it was just business trips,” Oz blinked tears out of their eyes, “Wow, I sound like a stupid housewife getting cheated on with the tennis instructor.”

 

“Housewifes don’t handle finances though. You understand how they can be fooled because they’re not looking over the debit card statements and improperly filing taxes in order to skimp the government,” Oz’s voice shook, “I told myself all the dinners while they were away were just convenient. Then the bar bills started racking up, and I just . . .”

 

Oz raked their fingers through their hair, “I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to track them down Polly. It was so bad.”

 

“Boo,” Polly looked stunned.

 

“They’d barely left the room except to eat and drink,” Oz sucked in a shuddering breath, “For months at a time that’s all it was. Still is. I don’t know why I’m talking like I was ever part of the Triumvirate as anything other than an ally. They tease me all the time, as if they don’t know I haven’t figured it out.”

 

Oz smiled bitterly, “Yeah, we fucked, but nothing more. But I took what I got. And pushed everything to the back of my mind because I knew it was the closest I would get to the real thing.”

 

Oz wasn’t crying anymore. They didn’t have any tears left. Their eyes burned as their body tried to pump them out anyway, and Oz worked their dry tongue. They could really go for a glass of water, and something that would make them pass out forever and forget this all happened.

 

“I guess this was a blessing in disguise,” Oz rolled over, “Now that I’m weak I had to leave. I was too much of a coward to do it on my own.”

 

Polly pressed a hand to their forehead, “Weak? What’s wrong with you?”

 

“I have no idea,” Oz curled up, “I’m sick and I don’t know how to fix it. How do you treat someone whose body is a mystery? I don’t know what the Hell I am.”

 

Polly’s eyes brightened, “My pharmacy does stuff like that all the time.”

 

Oz looked up at her, “Polly,pharmacies don’t diagnose people. They fulfill prescriptions.”

 

“I mean they give me weird drugs for mystery shit all the time,” Polly’s eyes gleamed, “It helps that I work there on and off. Let's pop some pills baby.”

 

“First of all I don’t see how taking a bunch of random drugs is going to help me improve my health Polly,” Oz said wryly, “Second of all, I’m pretty sure it’s too late.”

 

Oz let their mind drift, hoping that it would lead to passing out, “You don’t just run from something like the Triumvirate. Even if I could get my strength back, I doubt Veran and Damien would want me.”

 

Something dawned on Oz, “I still don’t have a plan. I planned to find a cure and nothing that would come after. Even if I do find something, which is doubtful, I’m still screwed.”

 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of confession today. We’re in Hell after all, it’s not exactly the most appropriate place,” Poly joked, wiping at Oz’s face as it began to crumple again.

 

Panic shot through Oz as they sat up, “ _You brought me back to Hell_?”

 

Polly put a calming hand on their chest, “I live here boo. Besides, we’re not anywhere near Damien and Veran’s ring. They’re probably still searching for you above ground.”

 

She smiled proudly, lifting a finger, “There’s this old piece of Russian literature, on of my favorites, where an estranged husband runs away from his pregnant wives and hides in the house across the street. They never suspect it!”

 

“Polly,” Oz groaned.

 

As comforting as their old friend was when it came to relaxing or just being there, she obviously wasn’t the smartest. Oz had no doubt that Veran had eyes everywhere. They had to keep moving, and escaping from Hell again was going to be a trip.

 

Still, she had sort of a point about it being a surprise. Oz doubted Veran would think they were dumb enough to come back to the place they were escaping. They had a little time.

 

Oz sat up, adjusting themself awkwardly. They felt strangely stronger now than they had in days. Ever since seeing the fear in Beelzebub's eyes, Oz felt like they had taken a dozen energy shots. Of course, there was also the fact that they had gotten their first good night of sleep in days. They couldn’t quite remember what they dreamed about, but from Polly’s casual reaction as they woke up, it couldn’t have been all that restless.

 

Oz cupped their head. The splitting pain they had experience had gone down to a dull ache. Wiggling their toes, they expected to feel sticky from sweating, but their short fur was silky and lustrous.

 

“Maybe for a couple of days. I don’t think I have to rush,” Oz yawned, “I feel great surprisingly.”

 

Before they had been on a time crunch. Not just because their window to escape without notice and get a headstart was small, but because they were so exhausted that they only had a little bit of time before they felt like collapsing.

 

“Sweet!” Polly looked them up and down, “You might want to change though. Your clothes are looking su-per grungy.”

 

Polly closed her eyes, turning intangible as she sunk through the floor. Oz watched her go, feeling anxious as they were left alone. The dull bass of the club thrummed through the VIP section, but the club itself was quiet for the most part. It must’ve been a slow day.

 

Polly rose back through the red carpet, a bundle of clothes in their arms. Oz gasped as they recognized the bright splash of yellow and their old cowboy boots.

 

“It’s your highschool clothes!” Polly grinned, “You left them at my house after a party.”

 

Polly astutely remembered to leave out why Oz left their clothes at Polly’s place. Oz didn’t want to remember how foolishly giddy they felt leaving with Veran’s big coat draped over their body.

 

Oz quickly slipped on the button up, wishing they had a bra that wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Of course, just when they were starting to feel better, their tits would start weirdly hurting. Sighing, Oz left a felt buttons on the top unbuttoned in case they had to readjust itself.

 

Putting on their old yellow cardigan felt like some sort of ritual. Bright and pretty, it felt like something from a different time. It felt extremely soft as it slid over their arms. Oz smiled and nuzzled the collar.

 

“You’re so cute,” Polly cooed.

 

Embarrassed, Oz quickly hopped into the pants and slipped on their shoes. They didn’t feel embarrassed disrobing in front of Polly. She respectfully glanced to the side. Besides, she had already whipped her shirt off to give them something to blow their nose with.

 

Oz’s mind couldn’t let them be comfortable for long. As soon as they  were finished admiring how their boots looked on their feet, Oz remembered Beelzebub.

 

“Polly, what did you do with Beelzebub's remains?” They asked.

 

She smirked, “ ‘Left them scattered on the wall.”

 

Oz scratched their chin, “You did kill her pretty good. It’ll take a while before she regenerates.”

 

“Beelzebub regenerates?” Polly started.

 

Oz nodded, “Yeah, but you couldn’t have known. I thought Damien had killed her once, but well, let’s say we all got an unpleasant surprise the next morning.”

 

That meant their stay in Hell was going to be even shorter. Oz frowned, wishing they could spend some time with Polly. She was the best company they’d had in days. They had no idea who they would be spending time with next.

 

“I was thinking I would drop you off with Amira and Scott,” Polly practically read Oz’s mind, “They’ve got the cutest litter of flammable pups.”

 

Oz narrowed their eyes, “What did you do?”

 

“It was only one jagerbomb! I didn’t set Spark Plug on fire on purpose. It didn’t harm him anyway. He’s half fire elemental,” Polly looked to the side, “I might get Vicky to set it up though. And, uh, I might just drop you off. They might not want to “see me” see me if you know what I mean.”

 

“Vicky and Amira,” Oz let their mind drift.

 

When was the last time they saw their old friends? It seemed like only yesterday when they were gushing over how to win dates for the prom. Oz hadn’t talked to them in forever.

 

“Where does Vicky live?” Oz asked.

 

“The Crack in Between Hell and Heaven,” Polly offered her hand, “We can go there now if you want.”

 

Oz nodded vigorously. The sooner they could get going, the safer Oz would be. Something about the idea of safety made them feel deeply satisfied.

 

“It’ll be easier to move on from Hell after that. It’s pretty close to the border, “ Oz said, “There’s a great library there too. Maybe I can finally look up some answers.”

 

“Great! Let's go,” Polly closed her eyes and grabbed Oz’s hands.

 

Cold poured over Oz as Polly turned them both intangible. Tightening their grip on Polly’s hands, they braced themself as they phased through the floor.

 

Oz gasped as they floated upward above polished marble. Gurgling as they became tangible again, Oz clumsily landed on their feet. The crowd around them barely reacted. They were too busy staring at the main event.

 

Lightning climbed up a huge ring of spiral pillars. The air hummed with electricity as the bolts dove into a huge, rippling pit of clouds hanging overhead. Flashes of darkness and light came to life under the cloud color, and the feeling of something immense and powerful filled the room. Muffled singing for a gargantuan choir rang out from the otherworldly portal.

 

Oz’s fur went on end. Familiarity warmed their body whenever the darkness filled the room. They had seen it sometimes in Damien’s eyes, and sometimes even under their own skin. It was distinctively hellish, filling them with a yearning for home that was only abated by the light.

 

The light made them hiss. Maybe they had been in Hell for too long to ever be comforted by the rays of Heaven, but it felt invasive and far too inquisitive. It reminded them or incense and restraint, purity and pledging one’s life to the Lord.

 

It reminded them of their mother.

 

“Ugh, why is Vicky here?” Oz cupped their face. They hadn’t realized how strong the pull between the two realms would be.

 

“I think she likes funneling the electricity,” Polly shrugged, “You can ask her yourself.”

 

Oz followed her gaze to the monster in the middle of the throng. Perched on a stack of other frankenstein's, Vicky Schmidt raised her hands to the sky. Cackling, she embraced the power surging through the air, her angle-length frizzy hair billowing out as she was struck by a bolt of lightning. Her eyes filled with light as her bolts buzzed, the loose white robes on her body billowing out.

 

“Of course she would think this was fun,” Oz said aloud, shaking their head.

 

They wanted to stop and laugh, but there wasn’t time. The crowd seemed to be growing thicker somehow as if there were more people arriving.

 

“What’s happening right now?” Oz asked.

 

“I don’t know. I’ll try to find out,” Polly started to drift away, “Stay here!”

 

Oz was able to follow Poly’s instructions for about five seconds. The huge throng began to shift around more and more. Oz found themself jostled from person to person. Struggling to steady themself, Oz ended up bumping into a huge umbrella.

 

“Sorry,” They grunted.

 

“It’s fine. Walking in straight lines is so mainstream. Shoving is barely niche though,” The vampire droned.

 

Oz stopped. The monotone, condescending voice sounded so familiar. They looked up at the family, taking in his long, silky mohawk and sharp ears. His eyes were outlined in kohl along with his chest, which was barely covered up by an oversized white dress shirt and a kilt made out of curly wool. He was drenched in cologne.

 

The vampire stared at Oz as they studied him, trying to put a name to a face. Two other monsters came up behind him, snickering as Oz took longer and longer.

 

“Hehe, looks like Liam’s got another groupie,” The satyr snorted.

 

“Liam de Lioncourt?” Oz reeled, “Is that you?”

 

It wasn’t as if Oz couldn’t believe Liam wouldn’t show up somewhere in something weird. Despite not having seen him in years, the one thing Oz remembered was how much Liam strived to be against the grain.

 

No, what surprised them was how overtly sexual his get-up was. Liam was far away from coming close to the magnetic presence that kept Oz’s unhealthy infatuation with Veran and Damien going. Oz didn’t find him attractive at all. But how he had made his hair look wet on purpose as if he just stepped out of a shower, and how the kilt was obviously to flaunt his legs made it clear Liam was trying to show off his body. Oz remember the long speeches Liam would give about the mainstream and how much he hated that “modern music” used the performers’ bodies to distract the audience from how bad the songs actually were. Oz never thought they would see him in a similar get-up.

 

“You can pick your jaw off the floor sweetheart,” The satyr rocked on his hooves, “He’s engaged so --”

 

“March 30th, the school cafeteria,” Oz’s eyes twitched, “You stepped into my salad to give everyone a ten page speech about how the only reason Imagine Fucking Dragons had popularity was because everyone thought the singer was attractive.”

 

Liam’s eyes lit up, “I went to high school with you?”

 

“Ozymandias,” Oz cautiously offered their hand.

 

Liam slowly took it, his shaking going from hesitant to moderate. Soon he began to nod, the umbrella in his hand bobbing up and down.

 

“I remember you now. I’m glad someone besides Vicky remembers my old think pieces,” He grinned, “You must be a bit confused now.”

 

“You see,” He made a signal with his hand. The other monsters hopped into poses. The satyr rocked is crotch forward as the harpy flexed and Liam waved at his abs.

 

“Back then, flaunting one’s body was terrible because it was common in a time of bad music. Now that people are focusing on making good music, flaunting your physical form is incredibly risque. Especially with all these parents’ groups. Add in our music’s pictorial style, and we’re just about the most niche band out at this point in time,” Liam explained proudly.

 

“Our last album wasn’t even music. It was a truck full of bananas we blew up,” The satyr bragged.

 

“It was a callback to our first album,” The harpy jumped in, “When we set a single banana on fire.”

 

Oz already had a migraine. _I don’t have the energy for this._

 

“Are you here to watch my future bride,” Liam’s eyes filled with genuine affection, “I’m so proud of her decision to switch from skimping energy from busted automatic soap dispensers. Getting it from The Crack is so much much more humane. Think of all the people she was robbing of clean hands before. Now she gets to say she’s literally filled with heavenly energy.”

 

“You’re engaged to Vicky?” Oz put the two and two together, “She agreed to marry you?”

 

“Hey dude, stop,” The satyr still wasn’t getting it, “It was sort of cute before but I think you’re pushing it, especially considering your condition. I don’t know if you’re married or whatever, but trying to get into the pants of someone’s whose taken isn’t exactly setting the best example for your kid.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Oz blinked.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“What.”

 

Oz didn’t even pose it as a question. The idea didn’t seem worthy of an actual inquiry. There was no way that Oz was that was unlucky. There was no was that they could both fall for two people they could never have, need to go on the run constantly and somehow get knocked up with their baby. It was impossible. Ludicrous. It was years of frustrated daydreaming trapped in an eternal bit of stupidity. Liam’s cologne had obvious gone to this guy’s head. How would he even know?

 

“I can smell it in you,” The satyr said accusingly, “Gorgon’s blood and a demon’s heart. My nose sniffed out PCP on a garbage island once. We were playing there. I know what a hybrid’s scent is like. You’re definitely not either of those things.”

 

Oz struggled to remember how to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was happening. Outside the haze of their jumbled thoughts Oz registered Polly floating over with Vicky. The frankenstein whispered in Liam’s ear as Oz’s heart began to race. His face went from smug to worried, and he fixed them with a pitying stare as the pieces came together in his head.

 

“Oh Oz.”


	6. The Howls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz moves in with the Howls.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Oz stuttered.

 

“Oz, chill out,” Vicky walked forward to steady them.

 

Oz made a distressed noise as they tried to ward her off.

 

“They’re pregnant,” Liam explained.

 

“What?” Vicky’s bolts sparked in surprise.

 

Walking in frantic circles, Oz began to jostle the crowd around them until people parted into a huge ring. Oz vaguely registered someone telling everyone else to give them some space. Everyone was watching them panic. There were too many eyes on them.

 

Oz clutched at their stomach. There were too many eyes inside them.

 

Their life was a twisted joke. It was all just one clusterfuck after another wasn’t it? This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t take care of a _baby_ on the run. A baby that looked like the people they just left behind. For Satan’s sake, they didn’t even know how to take care of it. How did you keep a gorgon-demon-who knows alive?

 

“Oz, get up,” Vicky urged them.

 

Get up? Oh yeah, they were crouching on the floor now. Oz moved their legs to stand up and ended up curling into a ball instead.

 

“Liam,” Vicky turned to her fiance, “Pick Oz up please. I might accidentally shock them.”

 

“Should I?” Polly started.

 

“You can go. I got this, promise,” Vicky crossed her heart.

 

Polly hesitated, and Oz screamed at her to stay from the depths of their mind. They didn’t want anyone touching them. They just needed to lie down for a little bit. Just until this nightmare ended.

 

“Oz come on,” The condescending tone slipped from Liam’s voice as he scooped them up, “We’ll get you to Scott and Amira.”

 

Liam waved at the rest of the band to stay as he stepped into the crowd. The ring began to dissipate in his presence. Oz clawed at his arm, not sure if they were glad he saved them the trouble of trying to figure out how to walk again, or shaken from the fact that they had nothing left to distract them. Oz began to shake.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” Liam assured them with a surprising amount of genuineness,  “You’ve got to calm down. You might upset the baby.”

 

Oz gurgled, “Baby. I’m growing a baby.”

 

Liam took a deep breath, “Vicky, hop on my back.”

 

Vicky grinned and pounced on him from behind. Hooking her legs around his waist, she rested her chin on Liam’s shoulder and shoved her hands in his kilt pockets. Liam didn’t falter at the extra weight, and with a little hop skip and jump he was levitating through the air. He quickly rose above the crowd and started flying to the side where the edge of the crack tapered off. Vicky held his umbrella for him.

 

“I knew it was bad from what Polly told me, but they’re pregnant too. Wow,” Vicky whispered.

 

“I can hear you,” Oz squeaked.

 

“Vicky,” Liam scolded.

 

“Sorry!” She quickly apologized, “It’s not bad or anything. I mean, Amira seems pretty happy with her pups. And Scott’s already got her ready to give him three more. They’re definitely tired but I’ve never seen them happier. Babies can be really fun Oz.”

 

“Maybe we should be focusing less on how fun babies can be and more on calming down Oz,” Liam chided gently.

 

“Babies can be really calming,” Vicky wiggled her eyebrows, “Or making them is anyway. When are we going to make some?”

 

Liam’s calm demeanor completely fell apart, “Vicky! Now is not the time.”

 

Vicky laughed as his voice turned squeaky, “I’m just having fun with you sweetheart.”

 

Oz felt nauseous. It was obnoxious to wish that the happy couple would stop flirting with each other -- well it was really Vicky doing all the flirting -- but it just reminded them of the fact that Veran and Damien weren’t there.

 

“I used to daydream about this sort of thing,” Oz warbled.

 

“What?” Vicky and Liam both focused on them.

 

_Damien and Veran would’ve told me they loved me. We would have planned this. We’d finally move into one room. Veran would pull out an eighteen year plan for raising a child. Damien would’ve burnt it up and called his dads over so Veran couldn’t yell at them.  I’d finally get a picture of him enjoying himself at a formal event -- there would be an announcement. Plundering baby stuff, cuddling at night, choosing baby names. Veran wouldn’t stop bragging. And Damien would jump in. I’d finally be able to watch both of them, the way I want to. There wouldn’t be anymore tabloids about how I “look at them longingly” or that Damien “seemed restless” or Veran was Hell’s “most eligible bachelor”.  We’d be together with our little hellspawn. The entire Broken Circle could go throw themselves into Tartarus. I could feel their touch without worrying about what would happen after. Everything would be fine._

 

Oz didn’t know what to do. There didn’t seem to be any real options after this. They could imagine looking at something they made with the two people they loved and tossing it away, but there was not way they could take care of it the way things currently were.

 

“Gorgon’s blood and demon heart,” Oz uttered aloud. They were at an impasse.

 

Liam and Vicky met eyes. Suddenly, Liam was streaking through the air. Static popped over all their clothes as they neared the edge of the portal. Oz winced as the rays of Heaven danced across their fur.

 

“If you go at it from the side, you stop just short of Heaven and enter aboveground. Scott’s so ridiculously affable, there’s no way you won’t feel better. His experience with children will make him qualified to give you sound advice,” Liam squinted.

 

Oz closed their eyes as the electricity and light became blinding. They felt Vicky’s hand on their shoulder as she tightened her grip on Liam. The smell of her frizzy hair became suffocating as the trio was sucked forward and all the people below them disappeared.

  
  


Oz had forgotten was Earth looked like.

 

There was something so mundane about it. Despite the fact that there were probably still thousands of wars going on, a few million atrocities and a constant stream of terrors running through its streets, everyday neighborhoods remained tranquil. Even though Oz didn’t recognize the neighborhood they were in as they floated down, the long stretches of concrete sidewalks felt familiar. The road looked the same as any other, and the houses were virtually identical.

 

“Vicky, you’re going to have to give me directions. I know they live close to the other side of the crack, but I can never read the address line on Scott’s letters. I have no idea how the postman manages to deliver them,” Liam looked at Oz, “Can you walk?”

 

Oz numbly shifted in his arms until they fell out of them and onto their feet. Tottering, they looked down at their feet and put one foot in front of the other. They moved forward, but a certain numbness seemed to have spread through their body, like an advanced case of jelly legs.

 

“I think I’m dying,” Oz croaked.

 

“Well I’m dead and I’m just fine, so I’m going to take that as an ‘okay’,” Liam snarked.

 

Sighing, he pressed a hand to their back and looked at Vicky, “Let’s get going.”

 

Vicky chipperly skipped ahead, “Okay! It won’t take long.”

 

Oz saw Liam smile slyly as he watched his fiance take charge. Oz followed as Liam took up the rear, making sure they didn’t just collapse on the ground and go into shock. Oz digged their fingers into their stomach, not sure if they wanted to claw at it or hug it. This was way too much. Everything was too much.

 

The streets passed by in a boring mirage of pastels and similarly modeled mailboxes. Oz counted the weeds under their feet, not sure what else they could do. Everything seemed frozen. They couldn’t think ahead, and they couldn’t think back. How were Scott and Amira going to help them? Show them how much easier life was when things were stable and you didn’t have to run from your partner?

 

The dandelions sprouting up between the cracks in the sidewalk slowly began to disappear. Messy chalk scribbling began to appear under their feet. Oz’s malaise turned to worry as ash began to creep up alongside the fences, and they soon started to make out tiny paw prints in the scorch marks.

 

A huge shadow fell over them. Oz looked up to see the face of a giant mansion that looked incredibly out of place. The tiny townhouses next to it almost looked like they were being squashed out of the way. Tattered remains of a welcome mat laid in from of the unhinged wrought iron gate. Oz slowly took in the chaotic spread of chew toys over the lawn, and the torn of garden in front of the house. A neighbor came out to fetch the mail, tsked as they took in the scene and walked back inside muttering something about “bringing down the value of the neighborhood”.

 

“We’re here!” Vicky announced, “Polly said she already called them, so you can stroll on in.”

 

Oz hesitated. Wringing their hands, they took one step into the threshold and felt their heartbeat race. Tugging at their shirt, they tried to ignore the nausea that came with the endless number of possibilities that could lie beyond the front doors. Before they didn’t have the chance to think in the long term, because they never got to stay in one place long enough to even consider it. How long would Scott and Amira let them stay? What if Veran and Amira tracked them down and punished them for it? What if they found out about the _baby_ and punished Oz for it?

 

Oz’s breath caught in their throat.

 

A cold hand ran through their hair. Oz instantly relaxed, helpless to the new changes in their biology. Liam cleared his throat, trying to project confidence.

 

“Scott is one of the most ridiculously stupid people I’ve ever met,” Liam started, “Which means he’ll probably drown you in mindless adoration and make you feel like you’ve been a member of the family since forever until you want to leave.”

 

“What if I can’t leave?” Oz mumbled.

 

Liam waved his hand, “Amira might need a little reassuring, but Scott would be happy to have the philosophical concept of apathy come, live with him and never do anything if it meant he could talk it’s ear off. You’re definitely better than that.”

 

Vicky nudged Oz forward, “Go on.”

 

Oz gave them one last look and arched forward, feeling as if they were moving towards the beginning of the end. They couldn’t quite put their finger on what the end was however. Was it good or bad? Would it last forever?

 

Walking past the mess on the lawn, they ascended the creaky stairs, taking in the tiny teeth marks gnawed into the corners. Taking a deep breath, they fixed their face and put on a mask of calm. Slowly, they pressed the doorbell.

 

A chorus of trumpets exploded to life. Oz squeaked as the house came to life, light flashing in the window panes as constellations quickly glowed to life over the wooden panels of the house. Just as it began to die down, the front door exploded, and Oz was greeted with the cutest trio they’d ever seen in their entire life.

 

Scott Howl had gotten even bigger since high school -- if that was even possible. He had to duck to step out of his six foot tall door frame, and his hair had started growing a little out of control, like an especially fluffy dog. His messy hair curled against his shoulders, about half of it sticking in every direction while the other half was collected in a clumsy ponytail. His thick beard was the only thing that came close to being well maintained, though the assortment of stickers attached to it kept Oz from fully appreciating how straight a line was cut into it under his chin. Sleep lines were carved under his eyes, but they were filled with such unbridled joy that Oz was immediately reminded of a summer sky.

 

Two balls of fur hung off his jacked body. One of them seemed to have Amira’s intense green eyes under a mop of hair, which only made him look a tad deranged when combined with Scott’s razor sharp teeth. The other hadn’t quite grown her pointed ears, pushing her hair  into her face and hiding most of her features, except for two big dimples.

 

The two toddlers’ tails wagged as the climbed over Scott. Besides their eyes and skin tone, Oz couldn’t see much of Amira in them. Scott opened his arms as if to greet Oz with a hug, and the two turned to look at the source of his change in posture. Sparks began to shot from their scalps as they yipped and spontaneously combusted.

 

“Oz!” Scott beamed, his voice containing the same breathy quality from when he was in high school, “I haven’t seen you in forever. Let me sniff you!”

 

“Uh,” Oz pointed as his flaming children, “Should you take care of that?”

 

“Spark Plug and Canis?” He waved his hands, “Nah, I’ve built a resistance by now. I only catch on fire a little.”

 

Scott swept Oz up in a hug, laughing as he carted them inside. The smell of microwavable kids meals and crayon’s filled Oz’s nose as they were blinded, their line of sight eclipsed by Scott’s huge chest. He was surprisingly gentle though, and when he finally put them down inside, it was on top of a plush chair.

 

He put a big hand on their stomach, “Is your little guy okay?”

 

Oz’s eyes widened, “You can tell?”

 

Scott lifted his chin, "Scotts have the best noses. Big Scott has the best and his little Scotts have the bestest.”

 

Spark Plug nodded, smoke pouring out of her eyes, “Animal-based monsters have great senses of smell.”

 

“But we have the greatest!” Scott reminded them, playfully shaking his body.

 

His kids pretend-screamed as they hopped off him. Canis immediately got distracted and started running across the room. His sister quickly followed, snapping at his tail. Oz took in the room as they watched them. The inside of Scott’s house was huge. The ceilings were so tall, Oz had to crane their neck, and all of the ceilings were made of curved glass. Bookcases and prizes littered the walls where there weren’t kids drawings, and the smell of leather and ink wafted up from scattered notebooks covering the floor.

 

Scott grinned, “Sorry about the mess. I’m busy with a research thing.”

 

“You do research now?” Oz asked.

 

Scott rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah. I thought I’d be doing football forever, but then I managed to tear both of my ACLs.”

 

Oz wilted, “Oh no, Scott you love football!”

 

“Loved,” He scratched his stomach, “Well I still love it. Football let’s me catch stuff and show Amira what a good strong boy I am. But I’m really into astrology now. I’ve discovered a lot of shiny things, enough to pay for this house. I’m a professor at Monster University now.”

 

At least someone was getting good news. Oz beamed, “That’s amazing Scott.”

 

“Yeah I,” Scott stopped as his ears pricked up.

 

Suddenly his body bristled and fur exploded over his body. Oz scooted back in their chair as his sharp fangs elongated, and his hands turned into humanoid paws. With something primal in his eyes, Scott literally turned tail and ran out of the room on all fours.

 

“Um,” Oz paused, and looked around the room. Their voice echoed in the big space. Scott’s pups had disappeared, and Oz wasn’t quite sure what to do.

 

Slowly, Oz got to their feet and began to follow Scott’s bounding footsteps. Turning into the hallway, Oz followed Scott up the stairs into into a round, dimly lit room. Just about every surface was covered in candles, and the smell of incense wafted through the air. Oz felt a deep pang of homesickness as they took in the bed, which looked like  a big upscale doggy bed and reminded Oz too much of their pit for comfort.

 

Amira sat on the edge of it, looking annoyed. The remains of a glass lay shattered on the ground, water running into the cracks of the floorboard. Her fiery mohawk had gotten larger since high school, along with with her chest, hips and stomach. Struggling to reach down, Amira appeared heavily pregnant. Her giant middle just about covered up most of her thighs. Oz moved forward to help her.

 

A deep growl sounded out and traveled up Oz’s spine. Turning, Oz connected eyes with Scott who was almost to the bed. Shaking his head, some of the clarity returned to his eyes, and his teeth retracted just slightly.

 

“Sorry Oz, it’s an instinct thing. This is Miry and I’s room. She’s safe here,” Scott scowled at the glass, “Except from bad glasses I guess. I heard you drop it Miry, I thought you cut yourself.”

 

Before she could say anything, Scott slid his head under her chin, closing his eyes as he rubbed his scent over her. Amira blushed and sighed, giving Oz an exasperated look.

 

“Hey Oz, it’s nice to see you again. Don’t get weirded out. He was like this with Spark Plug and Canis too. Now that I’m about to pop, Scott’s instincts are a little wonky,” She scratched his head.

 

Scott’s tail wagged, “We’re getting three more little Scotts. Isn’t that great?”

 

Oz smiled, trying to use their happiness for their old friend to hide their wistfulness. Would Veran be that attentive, in another life where he cared? Would Damien ever care that much?

 

“I’ll help pick it up,” Oz offered.

 

Scott pouted, scooping up the mess himself, “No! No pregnant people maybe cutting themselves.”

 

Amira jumped, “Oz, you’re pregnant? With who?”

 

Oz kicked the floor.

 

“Oh,” Amira’s voice lowered, “I’m so sorry Oz. I can’t believe you’re running from them like this. At least you aren’t in Hell anymore. It’s getting a lot more hairy down there thanks to the humans.”

 

“What do you mean?” Oz inched forward.

 

Amira patted the spot next to her, “Come on. I’ve got the newest print of the paper.”

 

As Oz walked over, Scott disappeared into the bathroom to get rid of the shards. Oz relaxed into the dip made by Amira’s weight, and gazed at the headline in her lap.

 

_Explosion of Monsters Headed To Hell As Humans Increase Supernatural Wards_

 

Oz began to scan the front page article, “When did this start happening?”

 

“Years ago, but they’re only started really reporting on it now. I remember I was living with these girls a couple of years ago when they suddenly started ranting about Fire Elementals and how they thought I would burn the house down. They started putting up some pretty nasty wards. I got really sick. My name was on the lease, but they ended up running me out,” Amira shrugged.

 

“Amira that’s awful!” Oz furrowed their brow, “You should have blackmailed them!”

 

“Not my style. Besides, they ran me out right into Scott’s arms. We’d been dating for a while, and he insisted I move in with him as I recovered. I ended up breaking my arm when I made my exit. I would’ve understood if Scott couldn’t help me. He was really busy. But my good boy helped me make all my appointments and promised we could find me someplace to stay once I was all healed up,” Amira suddenly turned a very dark shade of red.

 

“Then we, ah, made Spark Plug and Canis. I couldn’t imagine making Scott take care of me but when I eventually told him about our happy accident and my plans to go he insisted I stay pretty aggressively,” Amira rubbed her stomach.

 

Scott came out of the bathroom, “Pretty mate stays with me where she and our pups will be _safe_.”

 

Amira hummed contently as he climbed into bed and put an ear to her stomach, “Hell’s just the next best place. Heaven is so picky with who they let in, and no one wants to live in the merkingdom. Queen Miranda is terrifying.”

 

“I was kind of surprised when I learned it wasn’t on purpose,” Amira looked awkward, like she was avoiding saying something, “I mean a lot of ringleaders in Hell like it because it’s giving them new subjects to increase their power. You have to do some nasty things to actually get in there. A lot of people think it was some sort of conspiracy.”

 

Amira’s expression was kind but curious. Oz remembered how powerful the Triumvirate was, and how that’s exactly the sort of thing he would come up with. Based on his she was looking at them though, it was obvious that Amira thought Oz might’ve cooked it up.

 

“That sounds more chaotic than it’s worth. Hell is already crazy. If someone did plan that, I hope they’re ready to deal with overflow,” Oz yawned.

 

“Are you tired?” Amira asked.

 

“Only a little,” Oz admitted.

 

Scott perked up, “I can show you a place to stay.”

 

Spark Plug and Canis came running back into the room, leaving smoke in their wake. Yipping for their mother, the two scrambled on the bed and took Scott’s place as he stood up. Oz smiled at them, tentatively imaging a small hybrid in their place climbing onto their lap like the pups were climbing onto Amira’s.

 

Their smile quickly turned into a frown. If Veran and Damien thought they were useless for getting sick, they would definitely think they were useless for getting pregnant. The image in their head might be closer to the real thing than Oz probably would have first thought. They’d probably be giving birth in this house.

 

“Come on Oz,” Scott urged them, “You can take a nap!”

 

Oz followed as he bounded out of the room, giving one last look at his children. Yawning, they sleepily followed Scott across the hall into another room.

 

“You can be close to us, in case you need help,” Scott explained.

 

Oz nodded and walked in as he held open the door. Immediately a wave of exhaustion fell over them, and they stumbled into the plush carpet. The room was dotted with unlit candles and gauzy curtains. Oz immediately locked onto the bed. The comforter was extremely plush, and there were a few dozen pillows propped up against the headboard.

 

“Get comfortable, but don’t forget to eat! Skipping meals is bad for the baby,” Scott trilled as he scampered back out of the room.

 

Oz put one hand on the bed and immediately felt weakness surge into their body. Quickly mixing up the pillows, Oz fell into their makeshift pit and passed out, their cheek pressed against a neck rest.

 

By the time they woke back up, their mouth was dry and their ravenous hunger was coming back. Sluggishly pulling them self out of bed, Oz felt the strength leave their legs as they stood up.

 

 _Great, I guess it’s back to feeling exhausted when I wake up._ Oz yawned, shuffling as they stepped out.

 

Oz looked out one of the windows in the hallway. It was night time. The moon was high and a sliver in the sky. Oz stared at it. They couldn’t see the night sky from Hell. It was beautiful.

 

A deep rumble interrupted their gazing. Slowly, Oz crept back across the hall towards it, and peered into Scott and Amira’s room.

 

Scott’s body completely eclipsed the bed. Snoring loudly, his foot pawed at the sheets as he tightly wrapped his arms around Amira. She lounged on top of him, looking like a dwarf cuddling a giant, furry mountain.

 

Oz had been hoping one of them could show them the kitchen, but the stabbing of longing they immediately felt was so strong that they rushed downstairs themself. Stumbling into the living room, Oz started poking around. Scanning the walls, their eyes passed over everything from astrological awards to star charts. Everyone once and a while they would see some claw marks, until they saw and odd collection of spread out hooks. One of them had an apron, obviously too small of Scott while still being too big for Amira.

 

It dawned on Oz when they saw a maid’s cap. _Do the Howls have live in help?_

 

Oz’s stomach growled. _Maybe they can show me where the kitchen is._

 

Oz began to wander, softly calling out for the help. As they left the living room and entered some sort of carpeted den. Indentions began to appear in the carpet. Feeling them out with their toes, Oz realized they were high heels. They hadn’t really talked to Amira in years, but since when did she wear anything other than boots?

 

“Hello? Is there someone here? Can you help me find the kitchen?” Oz called out.

 

Their voice echoed as they walked out of the room. Their foot slid onto smooth, cold tile. To their delight, the smell of food filled their nose, and they vaguely made out someone standing in front of the refrigerator.

 

“Sorry,” Oz apologized as they groped the wall for a light switch, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

They flicked the lights on. Cupping their hand over their face. Gasping, Oz stumbled back, staring in horror at the petrified dryad encased in fine marble. Goosebumps exploded over Oz’s body as an ice cold chill settled in their stomach. Oz clutched at it as they shook. They had seen that kind of finish before. The fine gleam on the statue had passed under their fingers after years of getting rid of bodies.

 

A hot breath brushed against the back of Oz’s neck. It smelled sour -- almost venomous.

 

“Ozzie.”

 

Oz shuddered as they whirled around. Their entire life flashed before their eyes, an endless loop of crimes and time with two of the most terrifying people in Hell. Oz steeled themself to look one of them dead in the face.

 

“Veran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, after this story is finished, would you guys be interested in a mini story featuring Amira and Scott?


	7. Vera Oberlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz faces the music.

Veran looked livid. His long hair writhed in a giant horde around his flushed face, and Oz had never seen his pupils look so small. A dark flush settled over his cheeks as his body shook as if he was struggling to breathe. He was disheveled in a way he usually made fun of other people for -- the hood of his cloak was covered in dirt, the bolo tie holding it in place was dripping with blood, half of his shoulder-length cloak was torn away, and the rest of his closed dragon-claw clasp suit was wrinkled beyond belief.

 

Oz remembered gently pressing it after Veran kept complaining about the maids messing it up.

 

“You look like a mess,” They blurted out involuntarily.

 

Veran’s eyes widened as his nostrils flared, “How dare you.”

 

Oz took a step back, readying themself. There was no way they could just physically fight Veran. He was already better at it than them, and they weren’t in any condition for it. They opened up their back, ready to throw a construct.

 

“How long did you think it would take for me to realize you were going from friend to friend?” Veran started, his chest heaving as he seethed, “You betray us and this is your plan? Shack up with the few people that would take you.”

 

“I haven’t talked to most of these people in years,” Oz argued.

 

Veran’s voice cracked, “You could charm anyone into helping you. Couldn’t you? _Couldn’t you?_ Are you sleeping with him?”

 

“ _What_ ,” Oz reeled, “What the Hell are you talking about?”

 

“Scott, you’re sleeping with Scott aren’t you?” Veran hissed, his red pupils becoming pinpricks, “You slept with him smelling like . . . like . . .”

 

Veran lunged forward. Oz lifted their elbow to keep him off their face, and readied their other hand to swat away the fangs they knew they were coming. The apprehension that had been building up for days about fighting Damien or Veran made them falter, and instead of aiming their construct, Oz stumbled back. Veran’s face slipped past their arm, and Oz felt his nose ghost against their neck. Terror made them freeze up as Veran’s fangs scraped through their fur, and Oz was completely caught off guard when Veran sent them both toppling onto the floor.

 

Oz grunted as their back hit the floorboards, the full force of Veran’s weight settling on their arms as he held them down. Writhing, Oz squealed as he deeply inhaled, his hair stopping to gently wrap around their neck. His nails dug into their forearms, but Oz couldn’t tell if they were threatening or Veran trying to steady himself.

 

“Are you trying to strangle me?” Oz asked. To their embarrassment, they were struggling not to floof up. The last time Veran was like this he had gotten them pregnant.

 

Veran blinked hard then scowled, his blush deepening. Unwinding his hair from their neck he leaned back and dropped his weight on their hips. Looking pissed, he reached behind his back and drew out a knife the size of his forearm.

 

“No more tricks,” Veran rattled.

 

Oz screamed as he drove the blade downward, their legs kicking out under him. The veins in Veran’s hands glowed and bulged as it’s tip split into their clothes, and Oz felt a bright light spread over their body before they both disappeared in a bright flash.  The adrenaline surged through their body as they freefell, and Oz fell onto a mess of twigs and feathers.

 

Chains lashed out and wrapped around their body before Oz could move, pressing them to the mess in an awkward tangle of limbs. Grunting as their arms were forced on top of each other, Oz looked down to where their ankles were pressed against each other and strained their legs.

 

“I shouldn’t even wait for Damien,” Veran stood up from where he fell on the floor.

 

Oz watched as he began to pace, absentmindedly twirling his knife. He glared at his feet, but his hair was locked onto Oz’s face, dozens of beady eyes watching for the slightest change in their expression.

 

“I can’t believe he wants to question you. _I_ don’t want to question you. There’s nothing to discuss,” Veran stopped to thumb the edge of the blade, purposefully cutting his thumb on the edge as he bared his fangs into its reflective surface, “There’s nothing to discuss.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Oz had expected quick retribution for leaving. What did Damien and Veran possibly want to ask them questions about?

 

“ _Stop playing mind games with me,_ ” Veran spat. Whirling towards them, he planted his hands in the tangle of branches and shoved it back, making a loud thud against the wall. Oz grit their teeth as their head knocked back. Veran was so close all they could see was his luminescent eyes as he ranted into their face.

 

“I shouldn’t have trusted him. He told me you were acting weird, but all it would take was the tour, and by the time we came back the Broken Circle would be actually broken and I could finally talk to you,” His eyes shined.

 

“Are you crying?” Oz muttered.

 

“But it wasn’t some sort of mood, it was a sign. I knew you would get sick of us. We could never be good enough, and the Broken Circle made staying here in Hell more trouble than it was worth. You saw an opportunity all the new monsters getting pushed out by the humans, collected some fat paycheck from one of the ringleaders for ducking out when we needed you most, and they all got to enjoy their new flood of citizens while we were recovering from your loss,” Veran accused, tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

“ . . .   _What?_ ”

 

“ _STOP SAYING WHAT LIKE I LOST MY MIND. YOU KNOW WHAT. YOU BETRAYED US, ME AND DAMIEN. WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?”_ Veran roared.

 

Oz’s heart got caught in their throat as it jumped, their body shaking under their chains. Quick footsteps started to sound out from the hallway, and Oz looked up just in time to see Damien stride into the room.

 

 _Good gods he grew a beard._ Oz’s stomach flipped as he stopped in his tracks.

 

In all the years that Oz watched him from afar, Damien never looked tired. Maybe it was his ceaseless bloodlust or the fact that he was a diehard adrenaline junkie, but he even looked excited when he was going to bed like he couldn’t wait to sleep the shit out of it.

 

Sleep lines had worn themselves under his eyes, making him look years older. Residue from sleeping in mascara created dark rings around his eyes, and his messy stumble combined with his tangled hair made him look less like an Emperor and more like an unkempt drunk.

 

Oz sniffed the air. Or maybe it was the vodka.

 

“Oz?” Damien looked at Veran, ears pricked, “You found Oz?”

 

“I found a traitor,” Spittle flew from Veran’s mouth.

 

Damien’s expression transformed. His uneven gait turned into a frantic sprint as he dove forward, shoving Veran out of the way as he desperately embraced Oz. Sinking to his knees, he tossed an angry look back at Veran’ his face half pressed into Oz’s hips.

 

“Why the Hell are they in chains?” He yelled.

 

“Why the Hell are you hugging them?” Veran grabbed one of the links and yanked it.

 

Oz grunted as it tightened one of the chains on their arm. Damien shoved Veran, raising his tail warningly as he took the link from his hands. Baring his teeth at Veran he went off, struggling to unwind the chains from Oz’s body.

 

“Have you been drinking again? This is fucking insane Veran, help me get them out of this _now_ ,” Damien commanded.

 

“You’re asking me if _I’ve_ been drinking?” Veran laughed wryly.

 

Damien’s arms bulged as he gave up and started snapping the links in half, twisting Oz the best he could as he tried to find the padlock.

 

“Because the only reason you could think letting them go was a good idea was if you were hammered out of your mind,” Veran balled his fists.

 

Damien cupped one of Oz’s cheeks as he started tearing pieces away, gently working his thumb through their fur. Oz immediately fluffed up, confusion mingling with comfort as warmth spread through their body. He met their eyes and Oz was entranced by the pure, unadulterated affection that looked back at them. Were they missing something?

 

“You’re making fun of me when you smell like the castle’s wine cellar,” Veran went on, “Which is why I guess I’m going to have to do this.”

 

He twirled the knife in his hands into an upright position just as Damien fully freed Oz. Damien quickly turned to catch his wrists as Veran made his move, and Oz stumbled out of the way onto the floor.

 

“The only one whose spouting gibberish is you,” Damien growled, “Are you seriously going to stab Oz? Really?”

 

The two men stared each other down. Veran strained against Damien. He was strong, but Damien was the strongest out of all three of them. Oz watched sweat bead on Veran’s forehead as he struggled until he dropped to one knee in a mess of angry tears. Damien shifted his hands to the gorgon’s waist and drew him closer, cupping the back of his head as Veran pressed his face into Damien’s chest.

 

“I’ll give them one chance,” Veran raged.

 

He looked over Damien’s shoulders at the mess he had chained Oz too. Oz looked at the little pieces of red velvet sticking out of it and realized it was the shredded, broken remnants of their throne.

 

“They better have a better explanation, they better,” Veran ranted.

 

Oz unsteadily got to their feet. Damien stared at them hopefully, resting his chin on top of Veran’s head. Even though Oz couldn’t find a speck of rage in his eyes, they sensed a bit of doubt. Damien shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of any uncertainty in his mind.

 

“Tell us,” He almost begged. The smile on his face twitched, “Tell us why you had to take a break.”

 

Oz worked their jaw. This wasn’t going like they expected at all. Well, Veran was acting pretty much like they expected, but Damien was pretending like they somehow didn’t abandon the Triumvirate. Like weakness wasn’t a reason to run.

 

Damien’s brow lowered, “Go ahead.”

 

“I was weak,” Oz started slowly, “You wouldn’t want me anymore.”

 

“What?” Veran spat.

 

“That’s it,” Oz instinctually cupped their stomach, “I couldn’t do my job. I-I was useless.”

 

Damien and Veran both stared at Oz as if they had lost their mind. Oz pressed their mouth into a thin line. Their body ached from the chains, and their heartbeat was still coming back. Terrifying anticipation had been building up towards possibly having their confrontation for days, and now it was being dragged out to the point of torture.

 

“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy!” Oz shouted, fingers digging into their shirt, “I know what I am in this place! I do Veran’s research, I carry out Damien’s orders! I’m here to fuck when one of you two want it, and I’m here to handle your finances when you two sneak off to fuck each other for months at a time! You tease me all the time like I’m some new employee around the office! I’ve never been a real part of the Triumvirate, _I’m it’s secretary!_ ”

 

Damien’s ears pricked back, “That’s not true Oz. You know that’s not, wait, you know about the trips?”

 

“Do I know about the trips?” Oz’s back cracked open, “ _Do I know about the trips?_ ”

 

A thousand constructs twisted around their body, disrupting their clothes and turning into a giant nightmare. Oz quickly felt the strength leave their body as their thighs shook, trying to keep their voice loud as they drilled the two men in front of them.

 

“When haven’t I handled everything for you two? Who did you think was crunching the numbers, some servant? You think I would pass off any of your finances to someone else?” Oz felt sick, “Stop playing games with me.”

 

Damien and Veran were silent. The rage had slipped from the latter's eyes, leaving him with something that looked a lot more pensive, and a _lot_ more guilty.

 

“Oh,” Veran said in a small voice, “This is all my fault.”

 

Damien stared up at Oz’s nightmare. It twitched and warped as Oz struggled to keep it together.

 

“Are you okay?” He studied Oz, “What do you mean by weak?”

 

“Don’t go off topic!” Oz barked.

 

“Oz,” Veran untangled himself from Damien.

 

He looked at Oz suspiciously, like he wasn’t sure if Oz’s rage was genuine. He still looked annoyed, but the vengeful energy he had earlier was gone. If Veran suspected them of getting ready to pull a trick, it seemed like he couldn’t focus on it for long before whatever was eating at him swung back to the forefront of his mind.

 

“We weren’t sleeping together,” Veran ran his fingers through his snakes, “Not at first.”

 

“ _Well okay, that’s better.”_

 

Veran bristled, “You’re the one that disappeared for almost a week!”

 

“Veran,” Damien interrupted, “Stop trying to go off topic.”

 

“I’m not,” Veran fumed defensively. Damien narrowed his eyes at him and Veran wilted, looking off to the side as he fiddled with his hands.

 

“I didn’t feel right after prom. I mean I left right with you,” Veran’s voice lowered, “But not when we touched. Everything felt wrong. My parts, weren’t right, I just, it was so hard . . .”

 

Veran was suddenly rambling, “Everything was right but everything was wrong. Everyone was giving me the respect I deserved. I was insanely rich but I was also insanely _beautiful_. Everyone look how pretty monster tycoon Vera Oberlin is. Look at her hips, look at her chest, she’s gorgeous! I bet she and that secretary are shacking up. Oz is so lucky, they’re so lucky. The most stunning gorgon in existence.”

 

Veran was panting, “And I could tell you liked it. Every time together you told me how much you adored Vera. You told me all the time.”

 

“I couldn’t really think about things either. Everywhere we went there were cameras. ‘Is Vera Tired of Oz?’ or ‘Is There Something Wrong With Vera Oberlin?’ We have so many enemies, and the Broken Circle was just starting to grow. I couldn’t think about anything else besides how easily it could all be exploited. I tried to be normal but it was impossible. It’s not paranoia if everything you’re thinking about is true. I imagined myself as a stranger looking in, at all the ways my doubt could be turned into a weakness,” Veran clawed their own palms, “Every time I tried to act like everything was normal and just be with you I failed. I could tell you were starting to realize something was off. You started being distant.”

 

Veran pointed accusingly at Damien, “Then this dumbass came along!”

 

Damien’s serious expression broke, “Hey!”

 

Veran made a face, “I started feeling hopelessly attracted to the most stupidly masculine man in Hell. He never wears a damn shirt, there’s fucking disgusting sexy chest hair. Hair _I_ fucking wanted, which was another can of worms. Trying to feel like myself around someone who constantly flexed by beating people up didn’t help, and I couldn’t ignore him because I wanted to fuck him. _Which was extra inane because I was already fucking you._ ”

 

“Or letting you fuck me I guess,” Veran muttered under his breath.

 

“S-So I go away on a business trip with this man,” Veran began again before Oz could interrupt, “He doesn’t do anything but chug gasoline, blow up buildings and shatter kneecaps the entire time we’re there so of course I get distracted and of course I get drunk and of course Damien gets hammered and we almost do something but Damien touches my disgusting breasts and I lose my shit then he was shows me his fucking makeup which I did not know this man had . . .”

 

Veran’s voice grew quiet, “And, I don’t know, it just became a thing. Damien talking to me about things, about stuff that weren’t just masculine while being masculine and that made me feel better about . . . wanting a change.”

 

“I guess we did start having sex,” Veran fumbled, “And that was wrong. Just dropping you like that without warning. But I never stopped thinking about you, and every time Damien suggested I say something I just fell apart. I felt confident, being with him in that room, but I couldn’t imagine coming to you with a dildo asking you to call me Veran.”

 

Veran sniffed, “I guess I was a coward.”

 

“But you did tell me,” Oz said, feeling stunned. They had not suspected any of this at all.

 

Being this emotional almost looked like it was taking something out of Veran. He looked exceptionally pale and he was struggling to keep his voice steady. His back was straight but his shoulders hunched forward like he was losing strength.

 

“Yeah I guess I did,” Self-pride exploded across Veran’s face, “It only took a couple of years, but I did get it out eventually. Even if it was a bit sudden and I phrased it like an order.

 

Veran looked off to the side, “I maybe didn’t tell you about everything, but I did it. And you got Aaravi for me.”

 

Oz saw Veran smile for the first time since he dragged them back down to Hell and the world stopped. Oz faltered as a fat tear rolled down his cheek. They didn't think he’s ever shown this much gratitude to anyone.

 

Even Damien looked a little stunned, “Veran, if you need to take a break that’s okay.”

 

“I’m almost done,” Veran cleared his throat, “I don’t think I can do this again, just let me finish.”

 

“To my surprise you didn’t seem to care,” Despite his delighted tone, Veran bared his fangs again, “I didn’t _seem_ like you cared. You moaned when I touched you _,_ came when I wanted you to. Then I waited for days for you to come back on your own. I wanted you to want me but you just disappeared. Damien told me you were just acting weird, and that the tour would fix it.”

 

Damien scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, I guess fucking you when I was supposed to be finding out what was wrong didn’t help.”

 

Veran gave him a withering glare. Damien laughed awkwardly and looked up at the ceiling, “Don’t put this all on me?”

 

It sounded more like a request than a statement. Veran refocused on Oz, shaking his head, “No, he’s right. I’m not going to put this all on him. You just straight up disappeared. Maybe you weren’t conspiring --”

 

“I wasn’t.” Oz interrupted.

 

“But what were we supposed to think, with everything going on in Hell,” Veran looked at Oz cautiously, “It would’ve been the perfect time to duck out. You could’ve gotten a lot of money from the right person. One of the weaker ringleaders?”

 

He was still waiting for Oz to say it. Oz crossed their arms, “No, I did not conspire to let lose a new horde of monsters into Hell. That’s insane. You know I would never do that.”

 

“I guess I was a _bit_ paranoid after everything,” Veran’s face was still accusatory, though it looked a lot more hurt than steely, “You still left us.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Veran and Oz both looked at Damien, who looked a lot less forgiving than he did earlier. Oz tried not to stare at his chest as they fluffed up. The longer everyone yelled at each other, the thicker the tensions in the room got, and the tension in the room was getting to be a little much.

 

“I guess we did put a lot on you,” Damien swallowed, “I was helping Veran and I didn’t pay attention. I guess I didn’t handle things in the most delicate way either. But, well, I guess I also can’t say I’m surprised you felt like a secretary.”

 

He pointed at Oz suspiciously, “That’s not all you said though.”

 

Oz’s stomach churned as they remembered what was growing inside them, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You said you felt weak,” Damien inched closer, “That you wouldn’t want you anymore. Tell us the truth. The whole truth; why did you leave?”

 

Oz was silent.

 

Damien’s eyes blazed, “I swear to every eldritch horror under the Earth, if you got sick and put off going to the doctor because of some complex about your place in the Triumvirate I’m going to destroy you. I know you’re not stupid enough to run off because of something like that, right? Did you get worse? Are you dying?”

 

Veran jerked in alarm, giving Oz a quick once-over. Horror began to overcome his exhaustion. He basically spent the past half hour admitting how he thought this was all his thought. If Oz was dying like Damien insinuated, he would never forgive himself.

 

“No.” Oz dismissed him.

 

Veran and Damien continued to stare at them, waiting for another explanation. Oz shifted awkwardly in place, their secret weighing heavily on them. Even after everything, the idea of telling Veran and Damien they were pregnant was terrifying. What would actually change? How many things would stay the same? Veran explained in explicit detail how much his paranoia about appearing weak to the rest of Hell had messed with him. What would he do when he found out they had a legitimate weakness now? If Damien and Veran hadn’t thought Oz was an unnecessary part of the Triumvirate, they definitely would now.

 

“Your harem,” Oz started to lie, “You add to it every time we expand. Thinking about all of this, and how you could replace me any time you wanted to with any of the people in the rooms downstairs -- “

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Damien interrupted, “You know I never actually go down there. The concubines are status symbols. _Whiny_ status symbols actually. The most contact I have with any of them is when they demand something new for their rooms or when one of them wants to move in with another. Some of them have gotten fucking married, so it’s more like having a bunch of whiny tenants.”

 

He lifted his nose at Oz, “You know that too. You’re the one who finishes negotiations when I get tired of their bullshit. You’re actually **weak**. I can tell. You’re barely keeping that nightmare construct together.”

 

Oz began to defend themself only to find that they didn’t have any energy left to communicate. Veran connected eyes with Damien. Oz flared their nostrils, reluctantly retracting the nightmare back into their body. The moment their back zipped up, they fell over, exhaustion setting over them like a heavy blanket as their cheek pressed against the floor.

 

“Oz!” Damien shouted.

 

“Get the court physician,” Veran wrapped his arms around Oz, “Get him right now, hurry.”

 

“I don’t need the physician,” Oz struggled to bat Veran away, but he felt incredibly comfortable. Oz felt themself fluffing up again as he held them in his arms, and they had to struggle not to fall asleep.

 

 _I haven’t been this comfortable in days,  holy shit._ Oz swallowed the biggest yawn of their life. Damien slid in right next to Veran, feeling up Oz’s forehead as Veran hugged him from behind. A massive weight tugged down on their consciousness as the smell of gasoline and leather filled their nose. Oz purred.

 

 _I’m going to pass out,_ Oz blinked hard as Veran and Oz fawned over them. Something deep and instinctual nodded in agreement. Veran’s nose twitched as Oz stopped trying to hold themself up and nuzzled his chest.

 

“Are you sniffing them?” Damien looked at Veran in disbelief.

 

Veran shifted uncomfortably, “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

 

He took another deep smell, burying his nose in Oz’s hair. Oz felt his hips twitch under their body.

 

“Veran, _really?_ “ Damien looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

 

“I thought it was some sort of trick earlier but they smell fucking fantastic,” Veran stuck out his tongue to lap at Oz’s shoulder, “It’s you and me but it’s inside, under Oz’s skin. It’s mixing with their blood, holy shit, I’ve never been so hard in my life.”

 

Damien’s body went still, “You’re pregnant.”

 

Veran stopped, lifting his head so he could look down into Oz’s eyes, “They’re pregnant.”

 

Oz bit their lip, “I’m pregnant.”

 

Oz waited for the fallout. Veran would drop them and walk away, muttering to himself about getting a new secretary, retracting all of the feelings he revealed. Damien would call up his fathers and ask him how to get rid of the problem that just presented itself on his doorstep without losing his footing in hell. Surely the experienced rulers would have some advice on how to sweep everything under the rug with grace.

 

Veran’s lips crashed onto Oz’s, his snakes wrapping possessively around their neck. He steadied their body with his hands, frantically moving their lips together. Oz felt him moan into their mouth and suddenly they were desperate for the taste of his tongue, pulling him closer. Damien’s hands appeared on their clothes, ripping open their shirt and palming their stomach with his hands. Oz pulled away from Veran who rumbled in protest and watched Damien put a pointed ear to their stomach. Damien always had always had heightened senses, but there was no way he could hear the baby. Oz didn’t even have a bump yet.

 

His finger circled their belly and Oz realized they did. It was barely there, but there was a definite curve to their torso that wasn’t there before. Butterflies fluttered through their stomach as he opened his eyes and looked at Oz in wonder.

 

“Fucking metal,” Damien trembled, “We love you. I mean we loved you before but damn Oz, I didn’t think you would run because of this.”

 

“Oh my gods,” Veran stopped, “I chained you up. I almost attacked you.”

 

“No more angst,” Oz ordered before they could start freaking out, “This is the best I’ve felt in almost a week. I just was to go to sleep.”

 

Damien looked at Veran pleadingly, “You already got to kiss them.”

 

Veran reluctantly scooted back. Damien eagerly scooped Oz up in their arms as Veran hung onto their elbow. He nuzzled Oz’s next as Oz basked in their attention, their heart filled with joy. If they were dreaming Oz hoped they never woke up. Oz vaguely registered a couple of servants trying to stop them as all three of them charged down the hallway. Some were surprised to see Oz alive, others cautiously asked when Oz’s execution would be. Veran threw a couple out the window.

 

By the time they reached Damien’s room, Oz was already half asleep. Through their blurry vision, they registered a few hundred smear pieces about the Triumvirate on the wall, a few thousand wanted posters of Veran and Oz, and a million different weapons hanging from a chandelier on the ceiling. Damien gently set them down on his bed.

 

Veran threw up the covers and crawled in behind Oz, drawing him close. He stared at Oz as his hardness pressed against their ass.

 

“Ignore me,” He cleared his throat.

 

Damien scampered in too. He wrapped his tail around their thigh, pressing the flatness of his spade to their body so he didn’t accidentally cut them. He slipped his hands just below Veran’s arms where they were wrapped under Oz’s breasts. The demon’s fingers pressed against their bump curiously, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. A fierce sense of possessiveness seemed to overtake his face, and he tightened his tail’s grip on Oz as if he was trying to make sure they didn’t slip away.

 

“We want you here with us. We’ll still be here when you wake up. It’s going to take a lot to drive us away from you. There’s nothing in Hell that could ever get us to leave you. I bless every twisted thing that brought us close to you. I know it’s going to take some time to completely get over all the things we’ve been hiding from each other, but we’ll be right here,” He kissed their nose,  “We aren’t going anywhere.”

 

Oz gave a fulfilled sigh that quickly turned into a snore, and quickly slipped into a deep slumber sandwiched in between the two people they loved.


	8. Three Times As Hormonal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Triumvirate wakes up together.

Oz slowly opened their eyes, the gentle humming in their mind interrupted by hushed whispers.

 

“Veran, I swear to the gods if you don’t turn that off.”

 

“I know what I’m doing.”

 

“You’re going to wake Oz!”

 

“Oz could sleep through the End of Days.”

 

“We don’t know if that’s still,” Damien interrupted himself with a growl, “See look! They’re up.”

 

Oz turned in bed, Damine’s arms wrapped tightly around their waist. Veran shifted on the other side of them, but not before a bright light flashed in Oz’s face. Oz winced. Their eyes were still adjusting, but they recognized that fuzzy glow.

 

“Is that your phone?” They slurred sleepily.

 

“ _Veran_ ,” Damien hissed. His arms stayed still and untensed around them. It seemed as long as Oz was between Veran and Damien, he wasn’t actually going to do anything.

 

Veran leaned out of bed as if to preemptively duck away, “It’s important.”

 

Damien started to pull away from Oz but they hung onto him stubbornly. The idea of letting go of his body heat sounded monstrous. Even though they were still waking up, Oz could tell they were more well rested than they had been in days. Energy surged through them, but they didn’t want to get up. Something magnetic seemed to pull them to Damien’s chest. Oz absentmindedly slipped their hand under his shirt and traced the scars covering his body. Putting their nose to his neck, they slowly inhaled. Oz purred, dragging their hands up and down his torso.

 

Damien blushed, “I thought you were just waking up.”

 

“I am,” Oz wiggled their leg in between his, trying to get as close as possible, “This is so comfortable. Veran come and hug my back.”

 

Damien look back up, eyes blazing, “Yeah Veran, get back in bed.”

 

Veran waved them off, “We can’t get drunk on hormones right now. We’ve got to figure this out.”

 

“What do you mean ‘this’?” Oz asked, suddenly fearful.

 

Damien said that they were fine with Oz and the baby. It felt like a dream come true. Everything they ever wanted seemed to have materialized in an instant. Was Veran going back on what Damien had said? Damien had been the one to say it. Maybe Veran felt differently.

 

“Oberlin’s future,” Veran sounded exasperated, “We can’t just lay in bed for the next couple of months. If we even have months. We’ve got to start mapping out their future.”

 

“Oberlin? You’re naming the kid after you?” Damien rolled his eyes, “So it’s going to be Oberlin Oberlin?”

 

Veran frowned, “No it’s going to be Oberlin LaVey. Why wouldn’t they take your last name?”

 

Damien stopped, as surprised as he was flattered. Oz felt his chest puff up under them and laughed.

 

Veran crossed his arms, “This isn’t the time for games. We don't even know how this is going to work. I didn’t even know you could procreate that way.”

 

His face became slightly flushed as he looked off to the side, “I might’ve gotten ahead of myself the first time we had sex. I wasn’t quite used to my body. I’m not sorry this happened, but I wasn’t thinking about how you could’ve possibly conceived considering that you’re . . . “

 

Veran gestured to them, and even though Oz knew he didn’t mean it, they felt their heart dip. He did have a point though. Through all of this, the one problem that still remained was the question of Oz’s identity.

 

“Is it going to be an egg? Will you split in two like osmosis?” Veran looked down at his phone impatiently, “I’m waiting for my sister to get back to me but she stopped texting for some reason.”

 

“Why would Valerie know?” Oz frowned.

 

“Because she owns one of the biggest item shops in existence,” Veran sounded proud, “She must have something in stock. She always has the weirdest shit. If she doesn’t have some eldritch book, then she can at least give us a lead.”

 

“Fuck yeah, we’ve got to invite family,” Damien beamed, “My dads are going to be ecstatic. They’re always on my case about settling down and giving them a bunch of grandkids they can raise Hell with. Two loves is so much more badass than one. I finally have a leg up on Dad. He’s probably just going to use it as an excuse to give him a dozen grandkids now. Father’s probably going to want to tutor them. You can’t believe how much Jane Austen he shoved down my throat when he was teaching me how to read. Did you know she was a demon?”

 

“We can use Oz’s old room as a nursery,” Veran continued.

 

“My old room?” Oz cut in.

 

“Yes,” Veran looked at them like they were crazy, “You sleep with us now. Which means we have to move both of your stuff into my room.”

 

“Your room?” Damien looked like he was struggling not to laugh, “If you think I’m going to live in that stuffy parlor you’ve lost your mind. It smells like a tie store up in that bitch.”

 

Veran lifted his chin, “My room is the finest one on the castle, which is ludicrous considering I’m talking to the Emperor.”

 

Damien folded his arms behind his head, “That’s right, I’m the Emperor. Which means I get final say. We’re staying in my room.”

 

“Your room?” Veran gestured around, “You want Oz to give birth in here?”

 

Damien smirked cockily, “Yeah, you both look better in my bed anyway.”

 

“Wait, give birth?” Oz’s heart began to pound.

 

“Of course, it’s Oberlin tradition that childred are delievered  midwife in the bearer’s quarters,” Veran explained.

 

Damien groaned, “And then what? Give them a bath in virgin’s blood?”

 

“Yes actually,” Veran smiled nostalgically, thumbing his lip, “My sister is adopted so we had to make do with her bedroom, but it was adorable.”.

 

“Father didn’t need any of that,” Damien flexed his claws, “He carved open his stomach during the last stand for the eighth circle then used me and my umbilical cord to morningstar all the motherfuckers trying to invade.”

 

Veran snorted, “That’s old Hell propaganda.”

 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true!” Damien sounded defensive, like he was really attached to the idea of being used as a weapon straight out of the womb.

 

“Do you know what propaganda means Damien?” Veran asked snarkily.

 

“No arguing!” Oz squealed.

 

Veran and Damien’s gazes both snapped back to them. Oz touched their throat, trying to figure out when they started sounding like a sad puppy. Damien’s hold on them tightened, and almost without thinking, Veran rolled back into bed, leaving his phone of the side table with a fluid flourish. His slitted pupils shrink with something instinctual as he hugged Oz’s back and slowly dotted their neck with kisses.

 

“Stressed?” He asked with a voice that wasn’t quite his own.

 

“No,” Oz cleared their throat.

 

It still had a weird inflection they don’t have quite control over. Even though Oz wasn’t really sad, their voice still beckoned. Oz wanted Veran and Damien to snuggle them and the weird tone their voice suddenly seemed to radiate that. Veran’s hair snaked around their neck to nip at their collarbone as Damien gently kissed them, as if urging them to speak up.

 

“You guys I’m fine,” Oz wheezes, immediately floofing up.

 

Damien and Veran both paused. Whatever weird instinctual urge triggered that got them in this position was gone, but neither of them scooted back.

 

“What was that?” Damien muttered, squeezing Oz’s butt.

 

“You see now,” Veran insisted, splitting his gaze between Oz and Damien, “We don’t know anything about this. Is that going to happen every time Oz gets upset? We can’t start snuggling in the middle of the throne room.”

 

“Why the Hell not?” Damien grinned smarmily.

 

Veran scowled, “This isn’t the time for joking Damien.”

 

“I’m not smirking because I’m joking,” Damien grinned.

 

“Oh really?” Veran narrowed his eyes, “Then what is it?”

 

“You’re getting all mad about being set off by Oz,” Damien struggled not to laugh, “When I can feel your erection man.”

 

Veran’s eyes widened as he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Oz, who was still trying to get their bearings, felt Damien’s hand shift. Veran jerked, and Oz realized he had gotten hard against their back as Damien was groping their behind. Veran wiggled, trying to discreetly adjust themself as Damien tried his damndest not to burst out laughing. Veran’s hand shifted over Ox’s stomach as he tried to maintain his composure.

 

His air of calm dropped, “It’s just, I can feel Oz’s bump.”

 

“I’m kinkshaming,” Damien teased as his tail slithered over Oz’s leg to run up and down Veran’s.

 

“You guys,” Oz wheezed.

 

“Fuck you,” Veran leaned over Oz to roughly kiss Damien.

 

“ _You guys,_ ” Oz moaned, their stomach twisting.

 

Damien’s ears pricked as Veran’s hair stiffened. Almost in unison, they looked down at Oz, lust pricking both of their features.

 

“Babe?” Damien rumbled.

 

“Ozzie?” Veran hissed.

 

“You call them Ozzie when you’re hard man?” Damien brushed his cheek, grinning.

 

“You’re an Emperor calling his bearer babe,” Veran stuck his tongue out at him.

 

Warmth pooled in Oz’s stomach as they circled back to grind against Veran and hump against Damien. The two men stopped teasing each other and focused on them again.

 

Damien still managed to sound delighted as his voice deepened, “Is this turning you on?”

 

Oz groaned as Veran clamped his hands on their hips, making them stay still. Veran shifted fingers into their middle as he aggressively humped back,  sucking their fur into his mouth to make a giant hickey on the back of Oz’s neck.

 

“When we’re close like this I guess,” Oz admitted, nostrils flaring, “I’ve never really got to see you two be together, and when I thought of it before it used to hurt. But now I’m in the middle.”

 

Oz swallowed hard as Veran lapped at their hickey, “I’m so comfortable, I haven’t been well rested in weeks and you’re both clinging to me. I don't know. I like this bed. ‘Smells like both of you. So good, so warm. Safe.”

 

“Basic affection and safety from us turns you on,” Damien’s eyelids lowered as he hardened against their leg, “Shit, we’ve been real assholes.”

 

“We can make it up to them right now,” Veran pants, lowering his hand to touch where Damien had wrapped his tail.

 

He tugged it towards him, drawing Damien closer. Oz gasped as they were sandwiched between them, their cocks pressing against their body.  Veran thrusted up against them, sniffing at Oz. Oz’s pussy swelled as they started to get wet. Oz let out a little keen and sensed a change in Damien. His flirtatious smile shifted into a sort of grimace, like he was struggling to concentrate. Thrusting up against Oz, he radiated heat in waves as he looked over his two lovers.

 

“Everyone in this bed is wearing too much clothes,” Damien affirmed.

 

Veran sat up and frantically shed his wrinkled suit, hurriedly pulling his undershirt and clock off over his head at once, leaving red marks over his body. Damien literally tore up his stained dress shirt and threw off his pants. Oz clenched as his cock sprang free, a bud of precum forming on the top. They reached down to touch themself.

 

“Are you kidding me Oz?” A vein on Damien’s cock throbbed, “Mm-m. Naked.”

 

Veran’s hands found Oz’s ass as he kicked off his pants. Clenching it, he grabbed onto Oz’s belt looks and dragged them down as Damien reduced their cardigan to shreds. Oz whimpered as their sensitive nipples brushed against his palms.

 

“Fuck yeah tits,” Damien rasped, sucking a nipple into his mouth and squeezing the other. Oz cried out as they felt his stubble brush against their chest. The stale smell of alcohol filled their nose from when Damien was drinking, making his breath warm.

 

 _So good, so good._ Oz squirmed as Veran stopped moving.

 

“I-I can’t.”

 

Damien and Oz both stopped, turning their heads to look at Veran. Damien’s raised his eyebrows as he studied the gorgon. Despite just getting his pants off, Veran already looked like he was going to go off. A dark green flush worked its way up his chest as beads of sweat gathered over his thighs. Precum streamed from his two cockheads in thick streams as he stared at Damien and Oz.

 

Damien rubbed Oz’s stomach, “This gets you that excited?”

 

Veran struggled, his usually collected persona gone, “It’s _both_ of you. I haven’t touched you in weeks, Oz in months. Then Oz smells like my heir and your inane drunk stubble makes you look like a million dollar escort.”

 

He met Oz’s eyes with a hazy gaze, “I want to rail one of you so bad but I don’t want to hurt the baby. Or you.  I’m too pent up for this.”

 

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Damien only half teased, his hand already inching for Veran’s cock.

 

“I didn’t know I would get like this so fast,” Veran exhaled as Damien started pumping him up and down, thrusting into te demon’s fingers.

 

“I keep telling you to masturbate man,” Damien reach down with his other hand to test Oz’s folds.

 

Oz shouted and Veran bared his fangs, cock twitching in Damien’s hands as several hot beads of precum dripped down his penis. Damien massaged Oz’s swollen clit as they flailed, bucking against Veran for some more friction.

 

“ _Stop_ ,” Veran warned as he shook, “I’ll paint these sheets Damien and I’ll fuck both of your brains out. I need to get a handle on this, _stop_.”

 

Damien grinned, but Oz could see the strain in his face too. Looking down, they could see his cock had turned an even darker shade of red as his balls swelled. He gently pushed three more fingers inside Oz and listened to them cry out, pistoning his hips to mimic the motions he was making. Veran’s breathing turned erratic as he kicked down the sheets, jerking in Oz’s direction. Damien’s hand kept him from getting too close, his slicked up cock sliding in his grip. Veran hissed.

 

“Alright,” Damien wetted his lips, “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

 

Damien pulled away from Oz, much to their chagrin. Grabbing Veran’s shoulders, her rolled over Oz and scooped Veran up on his back. He immediately readjusted themselves over Oz, glancing back and forth between his stunned lovers. Veran humped against him immediately, his brow pinched as he struggled not to cum.

 

“Damien what the Hell?” He grunted.

 

“Go ahead and fuck me man, you’ve done it before,” Damien offered, wrapping his tail around Veran’s waist.

 

Veran’s pupils turned to slivers as he looked at Damien’s ass. Lurching forward, he clutched at his shoulders and bit into his neck, nostrils flared. Damien didn’t even wince, a thin trail of blood dripping down his neck. Veran spared him a relieved, animalistic glance before he shoved himself in, shuddering as his cock disappeared into Damien.

 

Oz watched, transfixed, as Veran rocked Damien’s body, roughly shoving himself in and out. Damien jerked forward, a dark blush spreading over the bridge of his nose as he was rough handled. Veran exhaled shakily, closing his eyes as he yanked Damien back and forth. Damien groaned and dug his claws into the mattress, before looking at Oz. His smile was almost scary, stretching across half of his face as he forced out what he wanted to say as he was pounded from behind, drunk on pleasure.

 

“You don’t think you’re getting left out,” Damien grabbed their leg, “Forget painting the sheets babe, after I eat you out I’m giving you a fucking facial.”

 

Oz yelped as they were dragged down and hoisted up. Their legs slipped over Damien’s rocking shoulders and Veran shifted weight onto them to hold Oz in place.

 

“Be gentle,” Veran said hazily, voice muffled, wrapping his arms around Damien’s waist to hold him up.

 

Damien made a distracted noise in agreement, tightening their grip on Oz. His thumb pressed into the divet between their thigh and crotch as his fingers wound around their hip. He reached down with his other hand and began touching himself, panting onto Oz’s pussy.

 

“Tell me when you need to breath,” He slurred as Veran jerked him forward.

 

“You’re the on _AH_!” Oz choked as he dove in, his forked tongue dragging against their clit.

 

Digging at Oz’s walls, Damien lapped over their bud again and again, their dampness spreading onto him chin. Oz struggled to inhale, clutching at their stomach as it tightened. Damien curled his tongue as Veran muttered filth over them, urging Damien on as he made Oz squirm and telling Oz how gorgeous they looked when they were moaning.

 

“ _Damien_ ,” Veran interrupted himself, wheezing. There was a soft clicking noise as he started to slow down, his thrusts getting harder. Oz felt him move Damien forward as the demon’s nose slid against their clit.

 

“Just let it happen man,” Damien teasingly blew against Oz’s clit.

 

Veran yanked Damien backwards as he erupted. Shaking, he hunched forward and swore, clawing Damien ass. Damien sucked hard on Oz’s clit as he struggled to keep his composure. Oz keened as he rubbed their leg and cussed, tilting their head back as their pussy clenched around his tongue. Orgasming with a strangled shout, Oz grabbed Damien’s horns, gasping as their body shook.

 

Veran gently dislodged himself from Damien’s neck and sat back, his dark flush gone. He glanced off to the side, looking embarrassed as his breathing calmed down. Oz lowered their legs so they could lean over and pat his leg.

 

“It’s fine,” They assured him.

 

“It’s just,” Veran tried to wipe away at the giant mess around his hips, “I never thought we would get here. I never thought I would have kids. It’s a lot.”

 

“You know what else is a lot?” Damien piped up.

 

Oz turned, “What?”

 

Damien smirked proudly and pointed at his dick.

 

Veran burst out laughing. Oz rolled their eyes as Damien tugged them back down towards the bed. Remembering Damien’s promise, Oz fluffed up and trailed their fingers over his hips. As expected, he twitched into their grip. Damien had been the most patient of all three of them through this, and they could see the cracks in his placid face.

 

“Give me twenty seconds,” Oz bet.

 

His expression flickered with excitement before he remembered his pride, “You can try.”

 

“And when I win, you’ll wash my face in the bath house,” Oz dared.

 

“Oh,” Veran added teasingly, crossing his ankles.

 

Damien’s eyes blazed at the sound of a challenge, “And when you lose, we all come back and spend the rest of the day in my room.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Veran raised his eyebrows.

 

Oz leaned down.

 

* * *

  
“Veran I swear if you don’t shut. Up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Veran gently poured oiled over his snakes..

 

“I can see you trying not to laugh,” Damien huffed.

 

Oz snorted, “Can you blame him?”

 

“Quiet you,” Damien pinched their nose.

 

Oz tried to laugh, the sound turning into a weird honk as Damien stopped up their nostrils. Soap suds caught in their fur as they sat in the olympic sized bathtub. Veran ran his fingers through his writhing hair as it snapped at bubbles. Oz and Damien had been taking their time playing around in the water while Veran tettered off towards the edge, where an assortment of expensive looking black market products were dispalyed in a basket.

 

“It’s for the best anyway. Valerie got back to me and I contacted your fathers Damien. They’ll be here in about an hour, so we have to be free,” Veran reasoned.

 

“Thirteen seconds!” Oz continued to tease, sticking their tongue out at Damien.

 

They quickly paddled away as Damien dove for them. He belly flopped against the water, a small wave welling up and pouring over the edge of the bath.

 

“If you two don’t stop screwing around we’re going to be late,” Veran scolded, “We have to finish washing.”

 

“We’ve been out of bed for half an hour and Veran’s already snappy again,” Damien taunted.

 

Veran splashed him, “Your fathers are going to be snappy if we’re late, come on.”

 

Damien sighed and drifted over to Veran and fished through his basket. Pulling out a comb, he began to tug the tangles out of his hair. For a second, the deep sense of serenity Oz felt looking at their two guys left. For the first time in hours, they were yelling or climbing over each other, and they could really see how they had gotten along without them.

 

Damien was more of a mess that they thought. Maybe it was because Oz had been too emotional to really study anything besides his thrilling smile and the wa his strong frame felt pressed up against their’s. But he had days old mascara on, like he had kept caking it over and over without ever washing his face. He wasn’t quite sticky, but the smell of different things clung to him: vodka, cigarettes and lighter fluid. There was also a faint scent under it all that worked its way into Oz’s mouth like an aftertaste. Wet leather, like the kind used on prisoners downstairs, kept bobbing up as Damien tried to scrub it all away. Oz wondered how long he’d tortured people before his anger dissipated and he started hitting up bars. Honestly it wasn’t that much more deviant that his usual activities, but the thought that Oz set it off made their eyes water.

 

Veran, who looked up from his own ministrations to check up on Oz every other minute, stopped. Perceptively, he glanced at Damien then gently gestured at Oz to come closer.

 

“Let me wash you,” He offered subtly.

 

Oz pushed through the water towards him, skillfully paddling their arms. Veran reached out to receive them, pressing the side of their face against his chest. Grabbing a fancy crystalline bottle, Veran poured a cascade of little beads onto Oz’s head. Veran messaged them into Oz’s scalp, rattling softly as he cleaned them off.

 

Oz looked up at him. Unlike Damien, Veran had a distinct lack of anything on them. He had to be the most put together of them on a daily basis, but her looked fairly bare faced. The subtle cologne Oz was used to discreetly sniffing was gone, they could tell he hadn’t moisturized in a while, the artificial whiteness to his teeth were gone and his snakes hadn’t been styled in days.

 

“Stop,” Veran scolded, “Just think about today.”

 

Oz leaned into him and shrugged. The mood had already set in. Maybe it was a hormonal thing. Suddenly they didn’t want to be submerged in water anymore.

 

“What’s for breakfast?” They asked, dipping their head into the water.

 

Veran immediately reached for them, “Raw for me and well done for your two. You can’t eat uncooked cuisine now, and I know how much Damien likes to eat food that tastes like ash.”

 

“Hey,” Damien wiped suds out of his beard, forming a taunt in his mouth, “Why don’t, wait Oz, babe where are you going?”

 

“I’ll just wait in the dining room for everyone,” Oz pulled themself out of the tub, “I feel weird.”

 

Damien started to get out with Oz, watching them dry off. Veran grabbed his ankle and gently pulled him back in, muttering something in his ear. Damien relented and began to help him finish.

 

Oz quickly toweled off, feeling their lovers’ eyes on their back. Looking around, they grabbed one of Veran’s kimonos off the wall and draped it on like a dress, shuddering as the silky material settled against their stomach. Drawing it closed, they stepped into the hallway, the tail dragging behind them. They made it halfway down the stairs before all the lights went off.

 

“ _Oz_!” Veran and Damien both shouted.

 

“I’m fine!” Oz yelled back, “I can’t see but I’m fine.”

 

Heart racing, Oz groped for the next step with their foot. Swearing, they slipped forward, falling into the air right into a pair of static arms. Sparks flew from two bolts in the pitch blackness, illuminating Vicky’s relieved face.

 

“Schmit?” Oz sputtered, confused, “What? How did you get here?”

 

Vicky rolled her shoulders back as her eyes filled with a determined glint, “I broke in. We all did. Don’t worry, we’re here to rescue you!”

 


	9. This Is Advanced Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vick and Oz's reunion takes a sharp turn.

Oz stared wide eyes at Vicky, “What?”

 

Vicky held them close, looking over Oz’s shoulders. Grunting, she barely managed to lift their feet above the floor before scuttling down to the bottom of the stair. Surprised, Oz kicked their legs, Veran’s robe bunching up around their shoulders. Damien and Veran called out again, but their voices were more distant and echoey. The stair went underground, and eventually lead to Damien’s harem. The faint smell of expensive perfume drifted down the hall. Oz tsked in annoyance before Vicky began to move again and they remembered what was going on.

 

“Vicky stop, I’m fine,” Oz squirmed, pushing away from Vicky.

 

Vicky gasped, cupping her cheeks, “Oh no, you have Stockholm Syndrome. Liam said that doesn’t even exist and has been widely abandoned as a term by the psychologist community. Damien and Veran must’ve really tricked you!”

 

“They didn’t trick me Vicky,” Oz refuted.

 

Vicky tried to grab their hands, “Oz, we found Scott and Amira’s aid petrified in their kitchen. Veran attacked you didn’t he?”

 

“Well,” Ox fumbled, “Yes, technically --”

 

“ If he “technically” attacked you then we have to go,” Vicky said firmly, “You’re not safe here.”

 

Oz crossed their arms, “Yes, I am Miss Schmidt. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

 

“You sound like a battered wife,” Vicky interrupted, “You’re being manipulated. No healthy relationship involves people beating each other up.”

 

Oz flushed hotly. They were many things : clever, accomplished, and after this whole debacle they would have to admit a bit emotionally dumb. But the idea that Oz could be manipulated didn’t sit well with their ego. They knew what Vicky meant, and in no way blamed people in those kind of situations for where they ended up, but they didn’t dirty their hands through miles of filth and blood to the top of Hell to be talked over. Especially not about Veran and Damien.

 

“Veran teleported me away because he thought I had compromised the Triumvirate. I corrected him and now everything is back to normal. So if you don’t mind,” Oz squinted into the dark,  I’d appreciate it if you told whoever was in charge of turning all the lights off in my house to switch them back on now please.”

 

Being with Vicky wasn’t exactly stressful, but it did feel oddly isolating, The only source of light were the sparks dancing fof of the bolts in her neck. They barely constituted enough light to be considered “a glow”, much less a proper light source. The castle was so vast that the lack of anything to light the way turned it into a bit of a void. Their voices echoed up into the high ceilings. The darkness seemed endless.

 

Something deep in Oz purred.

 

“OZ!” Vicky shouted.

 

Oz jumped and stumbled back. Vicky’s darted into their personal space, searching their eyes. They must’ve zoned out.

 

“What did I just say?” Vicky prodded them.

 

“Is this necessary?” Oz held their hands in front of themself.

 

Vicky pursed her lips, looking worried, “Are you having an episode right now?” 

 

“No just,” Oz made a face, “Just get out of my personal space.”

 

Despite knowing Vicky meant well, their annoyance with her rose the closer she got. It was just the situation at hand, though that helped to. There was just something simple and instinctual that didn’t want anything close except for Veran and Damien. 

 

“I swear up and down that nothing is wrong with me,” Oz promised.

 

Vicky looked skeptical, “Even if things are back to the same way they are, you didn’t seem that happy here Oz. I can’t leave you and the baby if you’re going to be miserable.”

 

Oz gnawed on their lip, a bit flustered, “I’m not going to be miserable Vicky. My compatriots and I worked it out.”

 

Vicky stared at Oz confused, before thes parks dancing around her neck exploded into volts, literally lighting up her eyes.

 

“Omigosh you got together!” Vicky gasped, “That’s why you’re being so weird. You and Damien and Veran cleared everything up and then you got in a big pile and  _ kissed  _ probably. WHEN’S THE WEDDING? WHEN’S THE WEDDING? WHEN’S THE WEDDING?”

 

Oz palmed their face, “Vicky please.”

 

“ _ Kissed while naked,”  _  Vicky smirked.

 

“Vicky!” Oz clutched at their chest. The only time they could remember being smooth with anything flirtatious was when they were warned first.

 

“Aw man, it was never really anger was it?” Vicky wiggled her eyebrows, “We’ve been mispronouncing sexual tension this entire time. I guess we can say the maid got in the way of your rock hard foreplay.”

 

“Vicky, I swear to Satan himself,” Oz bied their fingers in their hair.

 

“Yeah, you’re right, that last one was pretty rough. It needs more work,” Vicky gasped, “I just noticed you have sex hair!”

 

“Vicky turn the lights back on!” 

 

Vicky was in hysterics. Laughing maniacally, she shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck.

 

“Aw man, we sort of caused a big baloo over nothing didn’t we?” Vicky slapped her forehead, “We’re going to have to apologize to that nice satyr.”

 

Oz frowned, “What are you talking about?”

 

Vicky rocked on her heels, “Well Liam told he was going to “release the outdated harmen I’ve been telling Damien to get rid of for years” as a distraction. But Polly and I ran into this ghost satyr that told us he was going to take out the lights, and that we could go ahead and sneak you out the back.”

 

Oz crossed their arms, “I don’t know a ghost satyr.”

 

Vicky’s smile slipped from her face, “He said he knew you, that he was worried. He listed off all this personal stuff about you only a friend could know.”

 

“Like what?” Oz’s unease grew.

 

“When you usually go out for meetings. When you hold executions. When you slip out of the castle with Veran to do casual stuff. Your favorite food,” Vicky started.

 

“What is it?” Oz quizzed her.

 

“Literal deviled eggs,” Vicky said, “You like to eat them in the castle library.”

 

“That’s not my favorite food anymore,” Panic rose in Oz, “But I did used to eat them by the bucketful after Damien and Veran went off on their trips. I didn’t tell anyone that. I would sneak away because I didn’t want anyone seeing me stuff my face. The only person who would know that is a  _ spy  _ Vicky.”

 

Vicky paled in the darkness, her face going green to white, “Oh no.”

 

“The Broken Circle is in the castle,” Oz’s back straightened, “Veran, Damien, oh gods. Beelzebub is near my boys.”

 

“He wanted me to bring you to him so he could kill you. He knew you would trust us, and if you were in trouble we’d be your only way out. You’d have to take it,” Vicky realized, horror struck, “And it almost worked. Oh my god Oz I’m so sorry.”

 

“There’s no time for that now,” Oz realized, heart pounding, We’ve got to move, warn the castle guards.”

 

They would definitely be harder to hear down here, but Oz had been starting to wonder why there were no signs of Veran and Damien. Damien had barely let them leave the bathroom. There was no way he was cool with this.

 

_ What if they already got to them?  _ Oz looked into the darkness.

 

“Veran can see in the dark,” Oz tried to reassure themself, “So they’re not completely defenseless. We’ve just got to find them, regroup before they go somewhere else. Is there any way you think we can find the others before then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Vicky bit her nails, “Scott wanted to come but he couldn’t leave Amira alone. I’m not sure where Liam is and if he’s confused right now I’m sure making a lot of noise would be the last thing on his mind. Polly is wild card. Man I wish I had time to tell Miranda what was happening. At least I could’ve at least had someone who was kind of predictable.”

 

Despite the distuation they were in, Oz couldn’t help but be glad the queen wasn’t there. Having one dose of the mermaid within a span of seven days was enough. 

 

“I’m not sure she would’ve come,” Oz awkwardly chuckled, “I kind of ate all her food, and silverware.”

 

“What?” Vicky’s made a sound of realization, “Oh, cravings.”

 

Remembering the food, Oz’s stomach gave a loud growl. Dread ballooned in their chest.

 

“Yeah, I actually haven’t had breakfast today,” Oz cleared their throat, “There might be a problem with that. I sort of go into an episode when I get cravings.There's a chance I might eat my clothes if we don’t run across the kitchen.”

 

“Um, okay,” Vicky took a step back.

 

Oz felt their mettle rise with their mortification. They didn’t want Vicky to be afraid of them, but there was something after all this running that made it just a little bit satisfying to see they could still be scary. Oz felt strong.

 

Looking back into the darkness, Oz tried to make out the stairs with no avail. They had managed to stumble away from them. At least Oz thought they did. They, of course, couldn’t see to be sure. 

 

And yet, Oz felt just as confident as ever. They had never been in the middle of this sort of inky darkness before. Going to be usually meant passing out by candlelight, or napping in the library, where the lights were always on. Even when they did officially “go to sleep”, there was always a window, or some other source to see by.

 

Now? Oz couldn’t see their hand in front of their face. A chill traveled through them, not altogether uncomfortable. Oz reached out, trying to get a feel for the wall when something fell over them.

 

Their hand found likeness. Like skin feeling skin, Oz felt their fingers start to taper away as two sets of sensation all over them. Firstly the seasation of the wall itself: smooth, cold and aged with time. Then there was the feeling of being felt, of being smooth and cold. Vicky screamed.

 

Gasping, Oz pulled back, the dark smoke ribboning out the end of their arm turning back into a hand. Stunned, Oz stumbled back onto their ass. Vicky quicky rushed to their side.

 

“Was that sort of weird trap?Are you okay?” Vicky squeaked.

 

Oz nodded silently, trying to taper down the adrenaline suddenly rushing through their veins. Her terrified questions only made the urge to reach out again. Their hunger dipped just slightly.

 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that,” Oz swallowed.

 

“Don’t do it again,” Vicky requested fearfully.

 

Oz’s desire surged, “I really want too.”

 

Grabbing Vicky’s hand, Oz reached out again. Almost robotically, Oz reached out again and let their body dissolve into shadows. Freedom surged through their body as Oz laughed, their voice echoing through the halls. They were the halls. They were the castle. A hundred pair of feet beat against their back. Vicky screamed as they both fell into the kitchen.

 

Oz clumsily landed on their feet, Vicky grasping onto their back. She immediately jumped back and fell onto her ass, looking apologetic.

 

“I’m so sorry! Is the baby okay? What the Hell was that?” She fired off.

 

“I don’t know,” Oz looked at their barely illuminated hands as Vicky’s boots flickered with light, “In this darkness, I feel so fluid.”

 

“U-U-Um, don’t hurt me!”

 

Vicky and Ox both turned, surprised. A beefy minotaur cowered into a corner, a small knife in one hand and an armful of food in another. Oz had never seen them before. Frowning, they looked down at his shirt.

 

Triumvirate Takedown!!!!

1 Night Only

Loot And Pillage To Your Heart’s Content

Stab Any Guard Whose Every Messed With You Worry Free

Courtesy of New Management:

The Broken Circle And Beelzebub The Bold

 

Oz was flabbergasted, “What even . . . “

 

“It’s not just the lights,” Vicky bit her knuckles, “There’s an entire mob running around in the dark.”

 

Oz shook. They were finally happy, and The Broken Circle just had to crop up. Of  _ course _ .

 

They scanned the minotaur. His eyes lacked the devilish gleam of a real denizen of Hell, and his completely lack of boldness screamed foreigners. The most cowardly people Oz had come across down here at least pretended to put up a fight for a second.

 

“You’re one of the new monsters flooding into Hell, aren’t you?” Oz growled.

 

He nodded, dropping the knife and putting his hands up.

 

“I've heard of you. P-Please don’t hurt me,” He squealed.

 

Oz looked down into the knife’s reflection, worry building. It was tiny, but you didn’t need a lot to slit a throat.

 

“What’s this for?” Oz forced the words out slowly.

 

The minotaur glanced at the door, “I-I-I-”

 

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

 

He swallowed, “I-I-I hope this doesn’t mean the T-Triumvirate is holding a g-g-”

 

Screaming, Oz swept the knife up in their hands and hurled it. There was a dull thunk as it landed between the minotaur’s eyes. Choking, he slumped to the floor, blood running down his face as he fell into a twitching heap.

 

“Oz,” Vicky whispered, eyes shining.

 

Oz’s chest heaved as their arms twitched, power surging through their body. The Broken Circle was going to pay for this. Beelzebub's skinned body was going under the baby’s crib. 

 

“We need to find Brian, the head of guards. He’s the only one left after we sent everyone else out to look for the Circle. He’s the only other person who knows this place as well as Veran, Damien and me. I gave him the remote to all the castle’s traps,” Oz licked their lips, “Beelzebub's going to have to fly a lot of flags half mast.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! This took a little while to come out, mostly because I was struggling to condense the last arc into something that fit into one chapter. If you read this though, you know I didn't quite manage that. Which mean there is still one more chapter to go before this is all over! It should come out faster than this one though. Buckle up!


	10. Monster Manhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story ends.
> 
> So do a few monsters' lives.

Vicky cowered in the corner as Oz tore through the refrigerator. They couldn’t ever remember being this hungry before. They remembered feeling one of their episodes start to come on when they and Vicky were trying to find their way through the dark, but it had completely overtaken them once they spotted the refrigerator.

 

Tearing out one of the refrigerator doors, Oz began to stuff vegetables in their mouth, ignoring the taste of dirt from the unwatched peels and watching the inedible parts fall to the floor as they tore them apart. Their eyes searched the fridge for cooked meat, wanting to feel fresh tear apart in their mouth before they tore up the intruders in their house.

 

“O-Oz?” Vicky whimpered.

 

“One minute,” They mumbled, biting into a milk carton and shotgunning it.

 

The light from the refrigerator was much better than the light from Vicky’s bolts. Bright, white and glaring, it illuminated the entire room, climbing up the dark walls and providing a nice backdrop for all the foreign dishes and extremely burnt leftovers Veran and Damien hadn’t finished.

 

 _Veran and Damien._ Oz reminded themself as they stripped the meat off a turkey. Their boys were in trouble. They had to leave.

 

Oz tells themself that six more times, as they struggle to stop devouring a pot roast, lasagna, fried ostrich, an entire pot of gumbo, one lobster and a mysterious seas creature Veran must have special ordered. They step away from the fridge with a bit of tentacle poking out between their lips. Stepping away from the fridge, Oz slurps it down and meets Vicky’s eyes.

 

“Are you too scared to leave?” They ask slowly.

 

Vicky shakes her head wildly, looking at the minotaur corpse in the corner, “No.”

 

Oz feels like they should be more guilty. And in a way, they do feel embarrassed about terrifying a guest. It was incredibly rude at the very least. Not to mention they didn’t want to deal with Liam getting upset. But at the moment, without knowing for certain Veran and Damien were safe, Oz found it hard to really care.

 

Their heart beat wildly in their chest as their fury boiled. They remembered the last time they had faced Beelzebub, and how she almost killed them. Her and the inane Broken Circle. The idea of forcing that sort of harm on Oz’s loved ones made them more than a little sick.

 

Oz clutched their stomach as it growled. They couldn’t vomit now, they had just eaten.

 

Oz had underestimated just how much Beelzebub knew. They knew she could regenerate. That was part of why she was so hard to catch. But she had intel too. Information she shouldn’t even be close to knowing.

 

Oz traced the slight bump of their stomach. They realized she must’ve known about the baby too. Beelzebub was animal based, just like Veran, Scott and every other monster who had successfully scented their pregnancy. She had still tried to kill them. In fact, it seemed knowing she would be taking out Damien’s heir had encouraged her. She wouldn’t be holding back at all.

 

“We’ve got to move before Brian makes a judgment call,” Oz gestured to Vicky urgently.

 

Kicking the fridge closed, Oz sighed as Vicky ran over to take their hand, her sparking bolts becoming the only source of light. The overwhelming darkness empowered Oz again as they let their legs fold out from under them and dissolved into the shadows covering the floor. Vicky disappeared into their dark, formless mass, a helpless passenger. Oz felt her fear.

 

 _What’s wrong with me?_ Oz’s thoughts were a loose collection of consciousness. They barely registered, drifting out of mind almost as fast as they came. As quickly as Oz had felt guilty, they felt powerful again. People were meant to fear them. If Vicky wouldn’t do, they would find someone else.

 

Seeping through the walls, Oz thought their way through the castle. They were everywhere the darkness touched, but the lack of consciousness that existed in the inanimate walls made it hard to figure out what was in them. Oz felt out the vibrations within them, trying to figure out what was happening without eyes or ears. They let their body recompose where the pounding was lightest and reformed, Vicky falling out of their torso.

 

“Where are we?’ Vicky immediately wheezed.

 

Oz blinked, trying to remember the conclusion they had come to a second before. Squinting at the shapes in the dark, they watched a reflection of Vicky’s sparks a dozen times over, and realized they were looking a Damien’s favorite collection of blades.

 

“We’re in the armory,” Oz remembered, “One of them anyway. I figure Brian might come down here for weapons. It’s hidden. Only he and the guards know it’s here. Very few vibrations.”

 

They reached down to help Vicky up, patting her on her shaking back. She took a few steadying breaths and straightens her spine. Thatta girl.

 

“I don’t see anyone,” Vicky took note, turning around.

 

“Yes. Being right on the first try would be extraordinarily lucky. This isn’t all of it though. We should check the whole room,” Oz insisted.

 

Vicky nodded and followed. Oz walked past the selection of axes in the wall through the narrow room. Every weapon in here carried a special memory, each one more gruesome than the last. It reminded Oz of the days when they and Veran had first moved in, and Oz didn’t quite realize they had a crush on Damien yet. He was more impulsive, and resistant to strategizing his violence. Veran was more cranky because of it, and spent a lot of time venting to Oz, none of it especially serious.

 

There was the sword he used to gut the first ambassador he let in the castle since his fathers abdicated the throne.

 

There was the axe he started grudgingly dragging around after Veran finally convinced him to come to meetings with them.

 

There was his favorite whip, the one he liked to use on demons he was getting information out of that made Oz feel strangely weak in the knees the first time they had seen him brandish it. Veran had noticed taken the opportunity to fluster them, casually brushing his fingers against their churning stomach while maintaining an aloof expression on his face. Oz had almost fainted, and Veran teased them afterwards about possibly being infatuated with the then prince.

 

There was the shield Oz and Veran had hid behind after Oz successfully managed to seduce him in the throne room before Damien walked in. Having Damien see them naked wasn’t high on either of their lists.

 

Yet.

 

More weapons passed through Oz’s vision, carriers of far less significant memories. Damien like to change up what he carried around, which was easier to do with the more generic weapons. A rack of a few hundred spears called back to a few hundred breakfasts where Damien teased Oz, back when his taunts weren’t romantic.

 

There were some bazookas for when Damian was in a sour mood and needed to show off. He started carrying those around when he and Veran started their trips, hadn’t he? Best not to look at those too long.

 

Oz looked up as they continued to walk, their face appearing thousands of times in the endless sea of commercial broadswords. Gods, that’s when Damien really started to tease them. Using a sword to box them into a corner so he could loom over the smaller monster was his favorite tactic. Veran never really commented. He told Oz that he knew Damien didn’t mean them harm. Now that Oz knew that Veran loved both of them, they wondered how many times he had enjoyed watching them.

 

The knives Oz saw as they turned to corner reminded them of Veran more than Damien. Eventually Damien’s flirting had gotten in the way of work and Veran starting interfering with his own blades. Parrying Damien became his standard response. If there was enough time, sometimes the two would actually fight. Damien was, of course, more accustomed to hand to hand, but he still had an edge on Veran. Oz watched their boss get pinned over and over again, a strange feeling warming up their body. Veran would point it out the few times he managed to win. Then they both spent the rest of the night in Oz’s room.

 

Morningstars glittered like actual stars from holsters on the wall. Oz couldn’t remember actually seeing Damien use them, but it brought actual stars to mind. As the months stretched into years Oz would stare at them, trying to sort out the confusion cluster of emotions fluttering about in their chest as Veran and Damien flirted with Oz using each other.

 

 _“So when Vera goes off to have ‘review meetings’ is she actually doing a boring fuck review or is she_ reviewing _you? It seems like she could bore herself to death on her own. I'd much rather spend three hours on you Oz.”_

 

_“Don’t be so flustered about Damien Ozzie. I know how much you like powerful people. Come here."_

 

Just when everything seemed to come together, Veran seemed to silently cute their relationship short. No more dates, no more sneaking away together. Nothing but business. Oz had been as hurt as they had been confused. The trips stopped just being trips as their suspicion grew. Oz got a more discerning eye. They didn’t know if they felt more humiliated or stupid.

 

More generic weapons. More generic memories. Days spent alone. Two years spent with the rest of the Triumvirate formally. Keeping a straight face while spending time with the LaVeys. Work, work, work. Things finally starting to come together as the Triumvirate truly started to dominate Hell.

 

Oz gasped as they and Vicky almost ran into a rapier behind a glass case.

 

 _When I realized I was in love._ Oz bit their lip.

 

Veran had called together a diplomatic meeting, otherwise known as a cruel powerplay meant to tell a huge group of the ringleaders to get their asses in gear if they didn’t want to get taken over. Oz had felt especially good that day, considering they had successfully seduced over a third of them into the castle without even having to take their clothes off. They rarely felt powerful when standing next to Veran and Damien, but the pissed off way Veran continued delivering the Triumvirate’s threat when he pieced what Oz did together did just that. It wasn’t like he could really express any dissatisfaction. They weren’t dating anymore.

 

Damien seemed to be disappointingly unresponsive up until Veran finished his speech and Damien immediately punched the closest guy in the face. Veran hesitated for half a second, before declaring a hostile takeover and turning the ringleader across from him into stone. Oz had been momentarily stunned. Veran was the last person on Oz’s list of impulsive people, but there he was, turning the people he planned to blackmail for the next year into garden statues.

 

Oz had been so stunned that the leader of the five hundredth circle had immediately taken them as a hostage. Oz headbutted him almost immediately. It had been enough for Oz to get him to stumble back, which they honestly thought was enough, until a long golden glade pierced his torso once, twice, a dozen times, until it was reduced into a mess of poorly ground up flesh and fabric. Oz took a step back as the bloody mess, formerly one of the most powerful people in Hell, fell to the floor, completely decimated in seconds. It was complete overkill.

 

Before Oz could ask Damien what had come over him -- because while spontaneously starting a fight was all him, spending so much effort destroying someone when they were clearly dead wasn’t (it took away time from when he could be killing someone else) -- Oz met his eyes.

 

His shrunken golden pupils burned with so many things. Passion, satisfaction, rage and a fierce protectiveness Oz wasn’t sure they’d seen before. Blood dripped off his rapier. Oz wasn’t sure what they were directing back, but whatever it was caused Damien to fuse his mouth to Oz’s in their first kiss.

 

Oz had let out a gigantic, embarrassing audible moan. Damien grabbed their hips as Oz worked the V of their legs against his thigh. He grunted as their erections rubbed together. Oz didn’t know when they had gotten hard. They didn’t care. Damien bit their neck, hands dragging down Oz’s chest and catching on the waistband of their pants.

 

Veran cleared his throat.

 

Damien looked up snapped out of his daze. He yanked his leg back, letting Oz stumble backwards onto their ass. Looking up, stunned, Oz expected Veran to be pissed. Instead the gorgon was glancing at both of them, something coming together in his mind. Oz saw him shift his legs, trying to get over his own arousal. Oz stared at him, silently daring the gorgon to palm himself.

 

Oz’s mind went wild as they stared at each other in the bloody aftermath of their little games, waiting for someone to break the tension. They wanted Damien’s leg back. They wanted Veran to stop being weird and come closer. They really wanted everyone to take their clothes off.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Tail flicking anxiously, Damien all but ran away towards the bathroom. Veran stuttered before shoving a statue to the ground, watching it break before trekking back to his quarters.

 

Oz had organized the cleaning crew then spent the rest of the day ambling through the halls, struck with heartbreak the second they realized they had even given Veran and Damien their heart in the first place. They also had a nasty case of blue balls, but they had taken care of that almost immediately.

 

Damien had taken on the title Emperor the next day, and the three entered a weird stasis where they didn’t look each other in the eye for a month. Oz “got smart”, figured it was the end. They rejected Damien’s invitations as soon as he started offering them again, talking to Veran in a clipped way they portrayed nothing else but a platonic relationship. Veran and Damien tried to force more, obviously confused. Their trips together continued.

 

Oz almost managed to boil over and explode at them when Veran finally decided to confide in Oz. Oz switched from Vera to Veran immediately. Striking a deal with Aaravi had taken almost nothing.

 

Then Veran had started the cycle all over again by touching Oz for the first time in forever. Damien picking up the torch. Oz cupped their stomach. Now they were here. Oz had no idea Damien had it put in a case. No, it was probably Veran. Veran was much more likely to get a case commissioned.

 

“I love them so much,” Oz sniffed.

 

Vicky caught onto the rapier’s significance and hugged them, “They’ll be alright.”

 

Oz couldn’t be sure. Heart pounding in their chest, Oz looked at the shadows on the wall.

 

“Let’s go again,” They wiped at their eyes before they could cry, “Come on, grab my hand.”

 

As soon as Vicky’s fingers were intertwined with Oz’s, they fell again. Their body spread through all the crevices in the walls, wherever darkness was. Oz was old, _so_ old. They were the castle’s shadows and the castle had been around since Satan ruled all six hundred and sixty-six rings. Oz decided to go in the opposite direction where there were more vibrations than everywhere else. Aware that they might be diving into a literal slaughter chamber, Oz braced themself and dove from the ceiling.

 

Oz landed on the ground in a crouch, Vicky clinging to their shirt. More than a little nauseated, they immediately dropped her. They could’ve thought that through more.

 

“HEY BOOS,” Polly hollered.

 

Her hips gyrated as the room shook, an unholy wailing ringing out from the tear in her neck. A few dozen strange monsters laid huddled on the floor, screaming a blood shot out of their ears. Vicky was already cupping her ears with her hands, but the overpowering charge of energy Oz got from the fear permeating the room made the eldritch scream easy to ignore. By the time Polly closed her neck, she Oz and Vicky were the only conscious ones in the room. The bright blue light that had been illuminating Polly’s body’s died down, shrouding the room in a dim glow.

 

“Geez Polly,” Vicky slowly stood up, looking around.

 

She shrugged, “I got tired of possessing people and making them punch themselves.”

 

Loud footsteps filled the space Polly’s attack used to occupy. Far too close together to be done by any mortal, they led to the other side of the door that was quickly sent flying off its hinges.

 

Ears bleeding with some sort of golden ichor, Liam scowled quickly looking over the room. All of his teeth were stained red. Oz reeled. How many people had he sucked the blood out of?

 

“What kind of unearthly noise,” His breath caught in his throat, “Vicky!”

 

“Liam!” She squeaked, tackling him.

 

He easily caught her weight, swinging her around in a carefree way that showed that the eternal hipster had forgotten other people were there to see the totally mainstream expression of affection. Polly laughed and clapped.

 

Liam finally seemed to notice them and slowed, but surprisingly didn’t let go of Vicky. His expression turned serious as he saw Oz.

 

“Oz,” He started, “We’re here to --”

 

“Uh, sweetheart,” Vicky interrupted. She began to frantically whisper in his ear.

 

Liam’s expression switched from urgent to annoyed pretty quickly. Huffing, he wiped away at the trails of blood under his ears.

 

“Well it’s nice to know we got ourselves stuck in a middle of a riot for no reason,” He rolled his eyes.

 

Vicky thwacked his chest, “Don’t be rude!”

 

“Have you seen Brian?” I ask him, praying for a yes.

 

Liam stiffens his face bending into a barely concealed sneer, “No, thank god.”

 

“Liam,” Vicky squinted.

 

“I haven’t. I swear,” Liam swore, kissing her forehead, “You know I wouldn’t be nearly as happy if I did.”

 

Vicky sighed. Oz vaguely remembered something happened between the three of them, but there was no time to think about that now. Oz set their sights on Polly, hoping she would have some answers. She shook her head before they could even ask.

 

“Sorry Oz,” She put a hand to the small of their back, “Maybe you should stop looking.”

 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Oz spat, “What do you mean stop looking?”

 

Polly raised her hands, her tone becoming strangely motherly, “I understand you’re worried Oz. But you’re pregnant. You have someone to think of besides yourself.”

 

“I know that!” Oz roared. Everyone jumped back as their form exploded, a thousand shadowy tendrils dissolving into the ground.

 

There were vibrations everywhere, but no hunch to go off. The two most obvious ones had been wrong. Oz was running out of time. They came together in the harem apartments, the bathhouse, the war room. Oz was pretty sure they saw Polly, Liam, and Vicky again, but they were gone in a dark flash before they could tell them to calm down. The confident burst they got from others’ fear was gone.

 

Now the only person who was afraid was Oz.

 

Hyperventilating, Oz reformed in the hallway, struggling not to die. Veran and Damien were dead, shit. Fuck, they ’d do anything for the world to prove them wrong.

 

Oz heard a strangled yell. Quieting, they listened again. The sound of bones breaking rang in their ears, along with a liberal use of the word “fuck”. Gasping, Oz dissolved again, reappearing in the throne room just a few meters away.

 

Damien’s head reeled back as someone hit him with an uppercut. Screaming, Oz jumped forward, their fingers burying themselves in the unlucky stranger’s eye sockets. A sick squish momentarily paused the fighting as everyone took in the black blur that had suddenly come to Damien’s aid.

 

Brian, who Oz hadn’t noticed, pulled them to their feet.  A few dozen cloaked adversaries lay up to his ankles, and his uniform was stained with blood. He had been throwing someone halfway across the room when Oz took care of Damien’s attacker, but he now took position to protect them.

 

“Lieutenant!” He saluted, “Get behind me. The Emperor told me --”

 

“OZ WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE? YOU’RE FUCKING PREGNANT,” Damien screamed, his tail raising above his head like a scorpion.

 

Oz jumped. They were so used to the soft Damien in bed and the mediator  Damien between them and Veran that Oz forgot how he usually was.

 

“I’m saving your life!” They shouted back, unable to match his enraged volume.

 

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SAVING MY LIFE? BRIAN, TAKE OZ LITERALLY ANYWHERE ELSE,” Damien commanded.

 

“ _Kill them!_ ” Another stranger shouted, finally coming back to his senses.

 

Oz glared up at them. This explained why they couldn’t feel any vibrations. The Broken Circle was airborne. Oz recognized the gaudy cloaks anywhere. And surprise, surprise, guess who was in the middle of the swarm, apparently having finally achieved her goal?

 

“If it isn’t the Emperor’s birth whore,” Beelzebub pointed, voice booming.

 

“SAY THAT AGAIN BITCH!” Damien lept.

 

His foot found the nearest face as he buried his heal in their nose, springing off it as a spout of blood erupted from the mashed in appendage. Hands outstretched, he grabbed onto the unlucky person next to him, flinging the bat monster downward as he continued to climb up. The adversary hit the ground with a sickening crack. Damien dodged to the side as the swarm moved in on him, his tail slicing through the air and three torsos as he landed on someone’s chest.

 

He spared exactly half a second to glare furiously at Oz, sweat pouring down his face, “OZ YOU HAVE EXACTLY TWENTY FUCKING SECONDS TO GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I LOSE WHAT LITTLE SHIT I HAVE LEFT. FIVE, TEN, FIFTEEN TWENTY. WHY IN FUCK’S NAME ARE YOU STILL FUCKING AROUND IN THIS FUCKING ROOM?”

 

Oz pressed their back to Brian’s, staying low as the swarm divided out to attack them on the ground. Brian drew a chained scythe from his coat, tossing it with a flourish of his wrist. Impaling a harpy, he quickly spun on his heal, swinging her lip body into ten more people. Oz moved with him, ignoring Damien’s orders as they kept their back pressed to Brian’s. Staying low, they swiped out with their hands, sending constructs flying from their body like projectiles. As Oz struck their targets, they watched their eyes go completely white and a dark hue fall over their bodies. Horrified screaming filled the room, louder than the sound of the Broken Circle’s leaders frantically giving out orders.

 

“Lieutenant, your constructs can do that?” He kicked a fallen member in the head as they fell to the floor, sobbing.

 

“Let’s not talk about instinct and how I’m not sure how it works right now,” Oz wheezed, doling out twelve more.

 

“Is it draining you?” Brian asked, concerned.

 

“No I-I’m just,” Oz swallowed as their stomach growled, “Hungry.”

 

This was not the time for another episode. There was too much going on for Oz to get another insane craving. Oz ducked out of the way of a punch, sweeping the attacker’s feet from under them. Slamming their knuckles into his jaw, Oz leaned forward and planted both of their fists into crotches.

 

Brian laughed as the unfortunate duo squeaked. A whip wrapped around his throat, turning the dark, joyous sound into a joke. Muttering an apology, Oz yanked on the other end. Their fist connected with the guy’s face as he came flying towards them, shaking out their fist. He smelled like crackers as he fell at Oz’s feet. Oz immediately zoned in on the crumbs around his mouth. Their stomach growled again.

 

Gritting their teeth, Oz hopped off the pile of bodies at their feet. Brian grabbed at them, gesturing for Oz to press their back to his once more. But Oz had already begun to climb.

 

Oz grabbed onto shoulders, launching constructs at their next target’s back and jumping off their limp form. A good half of The Broken Circle lay dead below them, Oz’s instincts pushing them to send more and more invaders falling to the ground. They couldn’t let the father of their child die, they just couldn’t.

 

Damien literally buried his fingers in someone else’s leg, growling as blood welled up around his fingers. The woman wailed, sinking out of the sky. Damien jumped from her back into two people a little closer to Oz.

 

“OZ ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?” He thundered.

 

Tears welled up in Oz’s eyes. They weren’t upset. Or intimidated for that matter. They had been so worried about him and Veran that they didn’t care how pissed he seemed to be. Damien's accusatory tone made them angry. 

 

“Where’s Veran?” Oz demanded, holding onto their person as she began to try and kick them off.

 

Damien’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Chomping down on the arm of the guy trying to restrain him, Damien tore it out in his mouth. The man howled, immediately clinging onto his partner. She lost her grip on Damien’s shoulder as she tried to support her comrade. Damien jumped, headbutting into Oz’s person and swepping Oz up in his arms.

 

They immediately began to fall, but Oz had seen Damien walk out of literal explosions unscathed. Turning so he was under Oz, Damien fumed, his loud voice dialing down into a shaky hiss.

 

 _“Oz listen to me you crazy ass maniac. Fucking listen to me I swear to fucking,_ ” A knife appeared in his neck and Damien’s voice died with a strangled gurgle. Oz and Damien landed on the ground in a tangled heap.

 

“Emperor LaVey!” Brian stopped, horrified.

 

 _“DAMIEN!”_  Oz screeched.

 

Oz whirled around, looking up. Beelzebub's eyes gleamed with manic satisfaction, her hand poised to show that she had just thrown something.

 

“And?” Beelzebub taunted, the only high ranking officer left.

 

She drew out a spear, placing her thumb in front of Oz, “The end of the LaVeys starts here, starting with Damien and ending with the bastard gestating in you. Follow your pathetic bull into the darkness.”

 

“ ** _I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS,”_ ** Twenty eldritch voices ripped out of Oz’s throat in symphony.

 

Oz felt themself come apart in their grief and thread back together in their anger. Oz’s tendons ballooned out as the shadows in the room raced towards their body. Light, blinding light, returned to the throne room. Their old head was swallowed by their new shoulders; furry, huge and ethereal. Oz slobbered as a wolfish maw exploded from their neck, dozens of white eyes popping over their body. The sound of static became overpowering, and the room was reborn in black and white as light shot out from the bulging veins covering their hulking form. The rest of the Broken Circle fell to the floor as white overcame their pupils, paralyzed by fear. Beelzebub opened her mouth to scream as Oz pounced, the distance between them made short by Oz’s gargantuan mass. Strings of spittle laced the fangs at the top of their mouth with the ones at the body, embracing Beelzebub's body in a deadly cat’s cradle. Oz’s teeth snapped down on her torso, and ground her body to nothing as Oz swallowed.

 

Oz fell back, their shoulders meeting the ground with a thunderous crash. Exhaustion smothered them as their huge tail slapped against the ground, and by the time the doors to the throne room opened again, Oz had already passed out.

 

* * *

 

“A horror?”

 

Veran’s voice was distorted, distant.

 

“A horror, an embodiment of fear, an eldritch terror, all technically correct.”

 

Oz hadn’t heard Valerie’s voice in a long time, but they recognized her accent. She sounded so far away.

 

“You can keep the book. I checked their vitals again, and you’ll need to to keep doing that in the future. The baby is still okay.”

 

Veran swallowed, voice cracking.

 

“Thank the gods. After Damien -- ”

 

“Don’t talk like I’m not fucking here. I’m  going to fucking kill them when they get the fuck up.”

 

Oz’s heart soared. His voice was thin, raspy. But he was alive.

 

 _Open eyes, open._ Oz commanded them.

 

“That might take a while,” Valerie sounded a little clearer now, “Their life vitals are fine, but a horror transformation drains a lot of energy. It’s why their phobias have disappeared. That’s what those little ‘constructs’ are actually called. Some people take a while to wake up. You might have to . . .”

 

Veran was quiet. Damien tensed. He was behind Oz.

 

“We might have to what?” He growled, his voice losing a bit of it’s edge.

 

“You might have to arrange for plans to carry though Oz’s birth without them necessarily being awake.”

 

“DamIEran!” Oz slurred, jerking awake.

 

They were kept from getting all the way up by their middle. Looking down, Oz jolted, surprised to see their barely-there baby bump had grown to be much more noticeable. Their middle could be properly cupped now. It wasn’t bulging, but it looked like a couple months had passed. How long had they been out?

 

Veran wrapped his arms around them like a vice, sobbing into Oz’s shoulder. Oz stiffened, unused to seeing the “Nine-Headed Ophidian” cry. Damien smashed into them from behind, hot tears landing in Oz’s hair. His teeth grazed against their ear.

 

“Oz I fucking love you, but I swear to fuck if you pull that kind of fuck shit again I’ll kill you holy shit,” He breathed, “You know how fucking long you've been out? Twofuckingweeksyou’repregnant _fuck fuck fuck._ ”

 

He coughed. Oz tried to turn around to see what was wrong, but Veran’s grip on them was too strong. Oz lifted their hands, cupping his cheeks.

 

“Veran calm down,” Oz cooed, nuzzling his nose.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Some of Veran’s steely tone returned, albeit on shaky legs, “I had to watch you two for days, wondering if Damien would die then wondering if you would wake up.”

 

He moved his head to their breasts, steadying his shaking forehead against Oz’s forehead. Oz ran their fingers through his snakes, sighing as they wrapped around their fingers and licked at the tips. Oz was finally able to look back at Damien and their heart stopped.

 

A set of bandages wrapped around his neck where the knife had been. Veins spiraled out from the injury, contracting every time he took a shallow breath. The blood stains were old and brown, but they were so _big_. How much had Damien bled out before someone wrapped him up.

 

“I’m going to give you three some privacy,” Valerie slipped out the door.

 

Oz’s finger brushed against Damien’s bandages, struggling to keep their breathing even, “I should’ve reached you sooner.”

 

Damien grabbed their fingers, working his thumbs down their lengths onto Oz’s palms. He stared at Oz with a furrowed brow, looking like he wished he could yell.

 

“You should’ve fucking left,” He insisted, “What could you have done to prevent this?”

 

“I could’ve taken out Beelzebub sooner. She wouldn’t have had the chance to get you,” Oz tried to pull their hand away.

 

Damien rumbled, frustration blazing in his eyes. Veran planted his hands on Oz’s hips, working circles into their fur.

 

“Oz I don’t think you get this. We thought you might die, don’t you understand?” He looked up at Oz.

 

Oz pressed their mouth into a thin line. Veran and Damien were scolding them like a child. Admittedly, they had been rash, but there was a difference between rushing in and not thinking at all. Their boys were acting like they hadn’t had a reason to panic at all. At least that’s what i felt like.

 

“I thought you two actually died,” Oz wiggled, “I thought you both died twice.”

 

Veran and Damien let go of them as Oz scooted away from them. It was a bit harder to move; they weren’t quite used to weight around their middle yet.

 

“Gods, I feel so awkward,” Oz huffed, propping them up against some pillows.

 

They were all in Veran’s room, which made sense all things considered. Veran had been the one awake to arrange everything, and he did have the biggest room. Oz felt awkward asking for anything bigger when they moved in, and Damien thought anything bigger than a half kitchen was ostentatious.

 

“Valerie said horrors gestate for about four months, one season. You’re just getting along,” Veran eyed their stomach, “Did you hear what she was saying when you woke up?”

 

“Yes, wait,” Oz stuttered, “Four months? I’ve been pregnant for three weeks. That’s almost a fourth of the way through.”

 

“Mhmm,” Veran sounds stern, but he can’t tamper down the pride in his eyes.

 

“And that’s only what we know for sure. I could’ve been pregnant longer,” Oz continues.

 

“Do you get it now?” Damien rasped, moving back towards them.

 

Veran immediately followed. The fact that Oz had to wait was kind of ridiculous, but Veran’s bed was huge. Damien rested his chin on top of Oz’s head as Veran slipped his hands into their lap.

 

“We’re just worried you might hurt yourself and the baby,” Damien compromises. Veran nods, his hand rubbing Oz’s stomach.

 

“I’m worried I’m going to end up raising the baby alone,” Oz retorted.

 

Damien scowled, “That’s not an excuse for scaring me half to death.”

 

“That’s not an excuse for scaring _me_ half to death,” Oz threw back.

 

“I’m just happy you’re both here,” Veran warbled.

 

Damien and Oz stopped their heated staring contest to study the third member of their little love triangle. Veran’s eyes were shining again, but he didn’t seem ashamed. Far from it, Veran was being far less bashful with his true emotions. He moved a hand over Damien’s thigh, rubbing it back and forth as he kissed Oz’s belly.

 

“I thought I was going to lose everything. The two people I love. The third person I’m going to love. Everything I worked the last few years up in smoke,”  His nose lingered in Oz’s belly button, and they felt themself start to get flustered, “Your fathers thought that too by the way Damien. They told me the minute everyone was up, they wanted to see all three of us. They just heard about their grandkid and it's birther right before they both almost died. Their son almost died too.”

 

Damien wilted, “Dad and Father must be worried shitless, fuck.”

 

“Everything is fine,” Veran said out loud. It mostly sounded like he was assuring himself.

 

“I’m not saying we don’t have to talk about this again, but I’d like it if the first few moments we had together in a while aren’t about us yelling when they weren’t okay,” Veran stated.

 

“Fine,” Damien relented.

 

Letting himself relax, he rested his heads against the pillows, sighing as the cool fabric pressed against his neck.

 

“Oz?” He coaxed them to toss in their agreement.

 

Oz swallowed, struggling to respond. Damien’s tail had lazily drifted over their waist to rest on Veran’s leg as he continued dotting their stomach with kisses. Damien started rubbing circles into their forehead with his thumb. Warmth twisted in Oz’s stomach.

 

 _Safe._ They thought.

 

“A-Ah,” They squeaked as Veran suddenly lapped at their stomach, his hands reaching behind to squeeze their ass.

 

“Veran?” Damien interrupted, going still.

 

“Their scent changed,” Veran switched gears as he scooted over Oz, “Again. You feel safe Oz? We are being really affectionate.”

 

Oz floofed up, “You remember?”

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Veran’s breathing slowly became more and more labored.

 

It finally dawned on Damien, “Veran, are you sure you can handle this?”

 

“Yes. I’m not too excited,” He began to softly pant, struggling with the buttons of his shirt.

 

“Stop talking,” Oz demanded, pulling him closer.

 

Veran kissed them, their lips gently locking together. Veran’s tongue playful darted out to brush against Oz’s. Gently nibbling, Veran holds their chin in an almost chaste gesture. It was completely different from what was happening below.

 

Veran quickly hardened against Oz’s stomach, thrusting up against the taunt curve of their belly. Oz groaned, feeling their lips flex around their clit as they started to get wet. Oz felt dizzy. It was all so much to take in, they rationalized. Everything that had just happened and what was happening now. Having their two extremely attractive boys by their side didn’t help. Oz’s arousal turned their legs to mush. They felt fairly empty, all of a sudden.

 

Veran dotted Oz’s soft jawline with kisses as Damien watched intentlys. Oz rolled their hips with a moan as the young demon tented his pants.

 

“I want you too,” Oz beckoned him, and Damien seemed to forget all his inhibitions.

 

Lifting his tail, he moved it to Oz’s leg, winding it snugly around their thigh. Oz doesn’t know what he’s doing at first, and they don’t have time to figure it out. Veran had gotten naked in the minute Oz spent appreciating Damien’s form fitting jeans. His lean, strong frame fell over Oz as he licked up their neck. Sucking their fur into his mouth, Veran began to leave hickey after hickey. He humped against Oz as precum began to bead on his cockheads, smothering Oz in his scent.

 

Foreign cologne and coffee, shit. Oz moaned, squeaking as Damien slipped his red fingers into their mouth. Oz immediately began to suck on them. Damien groaned, pressing the tips of his fingers against the buds of their tongue. Veran shimmied down the shorts they must've slipped Oz into and lashed out with his tongue, taking a bite of Oz’s shaking leg their into his mouth. He switched legs and thrusted against the bed, teasingly blowing against their heat. Oz cried out, trying to wiggle closer to Veran’s mouth for some sort of friction.

 

“Wait,” Damien ground out, softly thrusting his fingers in and out of Oz’s mouth.

 

Oz flushed, face growing hot as he nibbled on the edge of their ear and increased the thrusting into their mouth. Oz swallowed as the back and forth flick of his wrist reminded them of a very distinctive motion. His other hand drifted down to capture one of their breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh as he left a hickey under Oz’s ear.

 

“Are you just going to keep leaving hickies on me or are you actually going to do something?” Oz asked, voice muffled.

 

“Both,” Damien promised against them as Veran jerked Oz closer.

 

Damien’s fingers dipped deeper into their mouth as Veran nudged their heat with his nose. Oz hissed complatively, lips bending around Damien’s digits as he added another. Laughing hoarsely, Damien forced their head to tilt back, and Oz lost complete sight of what was going on. Veran, Oz guessed, kept Oz’s lips open with his thumbs and began to hungrily eat them out.

 

Oz tried to shout, but Damien added another finger and increased his thrusting. Oz made a frustrated noise, squirming as Veran tasted their damp walls. He avoid licking everywhere Oz actually wanted to be licked and it was maddening. Sweat rolled down their face as their heart hammered in their chest. Damien chuckled, rough and deep. Oz can hear the sound of his other hand sliver under where he’s been humping the bed as he palms himself. Veran kept thrusting against the sheets as Oz’s eyes became jealous slivers of want. Everyone else was getting off while they were getting more and more hot.

 

“Wait,” Veran hissed against their heat.

 

Oz whimpered, high pitched and needy. His tongue sends vibrations right next to where they need it most.  Loud, vulgar squishing sounded up from where Veran was taunting them. They were so wet. Why didn’t one of them just mount Oz already?

 

“When I get my dick back I fucking both of your brains out,” Oz threatened, their voice severely muffled.

 

“What was that?” Damien thrust a little harder with his fingers.

 

“You heard me,” Oz huffed.

 

“Huh?” Veran finally sucked their clit into his mouth, tongue flicking.

 

Oz shouted and Damien leaned up, cutting them off as he shoved his fingers even deeper. Gazing at Oz, he began to stroke himself off, moving his digits in sync with the hand in his cock.

 

“I promise we can beat you to it,” He smirked.

 

He began to thrust his fingers harder into their mouth, pushing Oz’s head back even more. His grunting made their lips flex around Veran’s tongue as he attacked their clit mercilessly. Oz listened to his cusses sound more and more desperate as his strokes became more sloppy. His tail began to beat against the bed as Veran pressed his whole face to Oz’s arousal. Their legs were forced wide around his head. Oz wanted to plant them on Veran’s back for some kind of perch, but Damien kept the one close to him tightly pressed to his side. Veran pressed the other away from them. They were left uselessly bucking upwards, unable to grind.

 

Oz sobbed and Veran’s humping became more frantic. Damien nipped Oz’s check, exploding over their chest. Oz’s stomach clenched painfully as hot sperm painted it white. Damien jerked his fingers out of their mouth in order to brace himself, both hands clamping down on Oz’s shoulders. Shouting, he clamped his mouth down on one of their nipples so he could curl his back and thrust up against their side. His cum mixed with Oz’s sweat, and the overpowering odor of the trio’s combined mess quickly took over the room.

 

Wet. Oz was so wet, dammit. It was starting to hurt. Veran’s quick tongue glided through their lips undeterred. The loud, wet sound was one of the filthiest things Oz had ever heard and they loved it. It was overwhelming. Like the smell of Damien’s lust as it stuck to their fur.  He roughly nuzzled their neck, his wet hand trailing down as his cock continued to twitch.

 

“Veran?” He posed the gorgon’s name like a question, too strung out to form a whole sentence.

 

Veran seemed to catch on, pulling away from Oz. Oz swore, gritting their teeth as their pussy clenched around nothing. Their damp walls rolled against each other as desire throbbed through the lower half of their body. Veran’s hips were shaking as he reined himself in. His face was completely flushed, and Oz bent their sore neck to watch his hands twitch towards his swollen cockheads.

 

Damien moved towards him, his stream slowing down into splurts that dirtied his own thighs. He wrapped his hands around Veran’s waist, whispering in his ear as their erections knocked together. Veran grimaced as Damien wrapped a fist around both of them and slowly pumped. Veran looked blissed out of his mind.

 

“You like that?” Damien muttered to both of them, still rock hard.

 

“Dammit Damien, I’m so close, yes, yes I like it” Veran shudders.

 

Oz mewled, trying to grind up against them. Veran is still lucid enough to remember to push their leg to the side, and Damien was pushing even harder than before. This was what being burnt alive felt like, Oz was pretty sure. A second pulse thrummed through their body starting from their clit. It rang out in their ears until it was all they could think about. The dampness in between their thighs wasn’t enough to put out the fire roasting their body.

 

“ _Someone fuck me please_ ,” Oz begged, moaning weakly.

 

Veran starts to surge forward. His cock slid against Damien’s. He froze, struggling to stay together as a weak spurt of cum spurted out of his dick.

 

“Damien,” He ground out warningly. It wasn’t a matter of not coming undone anymore. He was already practically there.

 

“One more second man, come on, they’re so pliable,” Damien promised, inching his still wet fingers towards Oz.

 

In tandem, both men slid their fingers into Oz’s heat. Oz shouted, orgasming as they scissored them. Damien with four fingers and Veran with two. Their walls collapsed around them as Veran bit his lip and closed his eyes, the weak spurts of cum escaping from his cock turning into short, choppy streams. Damien grabbed both of Veran’s cockheads and squeezed as Oz convulsed, forcing Veran to bare his fangs and curl forward. Oz watched Veran groan at Damien, his voice drowned out by the ringing in their ears as Oz became undone. Sweet, sweet relief crashed over Oz as they squirted, their pussy winking at the two powerful men that loomed over them. But as soon as it came, it died. A new heat, hotter that before, choked Oz as their boys viciously scissored them. One looked like they were already bursting, kept back only by a force able to match them and the other was that force, marked by the coveting gleam in his eyes that screamed _he_ was in control this time.

 

“Keep your fingers spread,” Damien told Veran.

 

The gorgon obeyed mutely, his chin still glistening from eating Oz out. His chest heaved as Damien kept him at bay with one fist. Oz gazed into the slits that were his eyes and saw how much he wanted to come.

 

“Babe look at me.”

 

Oz trembled, licking their lips as they met Damien’s eyes. Some of his smugness slipped away as he leaned down and nuzzled their stomach. It was a small gesture of gentleness inside the storm. Arousal ripped out from where he made contact. Oz bucked. Everything felt good at this point. Their sensors were so overloaded.

 

“I love you,” He kissed their belly button, “I love this guy. I love Veran. I want to be with you two and whoever this is forever.”

 

“I love you too,” Veran smiled.

 

Oz felt their eyes water. Were they that hormonal or were they just touched? Oz heard the underlying message under their boys’ genuineness. Damien obviously hadn’t forgotten their argument. He was still miffed Oz and their unborn could’ve left them.

 

“Love you two,” Oz forced out, struggling to breath under the weight of all their emotions.

 

The raw affection made them lightheaded. Oz looked at both of them with begging eyes, and the restraint in Damien’s eyes faded away. He pulled his fingers out and Veran followed lead. Before Oz could scream, the two tugged their lips apart as far as they would go. Oz pushed back into the sheets as cold air rushed into their flexing pussy. Veran immediately shoved into them, unable to contain himself any longer. Rattling loudly, he flooded Oz’s abused cunt with cum, grunting as he knocked his hips against theirs. Damien slid in right next to him at a maddenly slow pace. Keeping in mind how "delicate" Oz was, he took his time getting more of his cock in, rubbing encouraging circles into Veran’s stomach. Veran forced himself to stay still, groaning as his cock continued to release and release and release.

 

Oz’s head fell back again, feeble keens falling from their lips as they stuffed them full. They’re stretched so thin, they’re stretched so _good_. So good, so good. Fuck, so full. Their body never felt so tightly wound before. So tight. So tight, so full, so wet. Oz panted weakly, trying to get a hold on their thoughts. They didn’t know they could stretch this much. They didn’t know they could feel this stuffed. It hurt, fuck yes. Oz felt Veran throb against Damien as he continued to cum. It caused the two dicks to glide against each other in the drenched tunnel, even though the two men weren’t moving.

 

“Okay?” Damien asks with a little uncertainty.

 

Oz made a small sound.

 

Damien swallowed hard, “What?”

 

“ _FUCK ME!_ ” Oz howled.

 

Veran immediately obeyed. Eyes half lidded, he drove in, his breaths desperate and sloppy. He clamped a hand down on Oz’s stomach as their tight heat forced him to grind against Damien’s cock. Desperation fogged up his head as he thrusted against his other lover through his cum, creating a filthy squelching noise. More got forced out the faster he went, until it was running down Oz’s thighs. Damien shuddered and began to thrust too, slower than Veran’s frantic pace. His last orgasm seemed to have taken the edge off while Veran continued to fuck up into Oz like he’d never cum in his life. They’re both too horny to move in sync, and feeling Damien’s drawn out canting next to Veran’s rutting renders Oz unable to talk.

 

 _So tight. Fuck it hurts. It hurt so good. So warm._ Oz’s eyes water.

 

Oz grabbed for something, anything to squeeze and ground themself. Their fingers wrapped around Damien’s horn somehow? He was kissing them? He was kissing their shoulders. Leaving more hickeys. Hot hickeys. Oz maked a weak noise as he fucked deeper into them, smiling weakly at Oz's attempt to get a hold on themself.

 

“Hell, d-don’t stop! It f-feels s-s-so tight . . . good, fuck. F-fuck me good, _Aah_! Dami _ahn_ . . .Ver _AH_!” Oz slurred.

 

“What Ozzie? What?” Veran pistoned into them, unable to slow down and ask.

 

“ _I . . . I . . . I,_ ” Oz wheezed. Veran and Damien had finally let go of their legs and Oz could finally grind. Their clit was rubbed relentlessly between Oz’s stretched thin-walls their lover’s vicious mission to get off.

 

“You want more?” Damien purred as ripples of pleasure consumed them.

 

Oz screamed in ecstasy as he ballooned inside them just slightly, the skin of Damien’s dick changing. Veran turned to him, face shining with sweat as the other's dick became ribbed. The vein of Veran's dick throbbed as Damien thrust next to him, and Oz could see his pupils sliver at the new sensation being pressed up against his swollen cock. Damien slowed, letting it rub against Veran and forced its way through Oz. He hammered harder as he landed home, but his in and out became teasingly sluggish. One full thrust every five seconds. One full thrust every ten seconds.

 

“And? And?” He dared both of them as he dragged his movements out, his tail beating against the bed.

 

Oz’s back arched sharpy, cum running down their legs as they clenched painfully. Breathless, Oz struggled to make noise. Their mouth didn’t quite work anymore. Veran spared no mercy, struggling to rub up against Damien’s ribs as much as he could. He ended up smashing the heads of his cock against Oz’s sweet spot relentlessly until they both came in waves.

 

Oz shook from the force of their orgasm, whimpering as Veran’s first round went running down their legs to make room for more. Damien ran a hand through the mess as he added his own, roaring as he came to completion. Coating Oz’s thighs and leaving them in a puddle, the two seemed to forget that Oz barely had enough room for their cocks. Anchoring their hands on Oz’s body, they slid their hips together and dove as deep into Oz as they could, drawing them closer every time the force of their thrust jerked Oz backwards.

 

Oz bloated again and again but their walls didn’t stop milking Veran and Damien. Flushed below them, Oz twitched, sweat and cum mixing over and in their body. Their legs were slick as they rubbed them together. Pleasure turned Veran and Damien into blobs of color as Oz spasmed. Oz choked on air as every nerve in their body overloaded. The raging fire between their legs peaked as Oz begged; they begged for their lovers to thrust harder, they begged for more, they begged for them to paint their insides white, they begged until their words turned to gibberish.

 

Veran and Damien slowed. Oz shuddered as they came down from their high. Veran gently pulled himself out, bringing a flood of cum out with him. Damien shimmied teasingly. Oz stuck the tip of their tongue out at him, too exhausted to give a proper rebuttal. Kissing their cheek, he drew out his prick too. Oz keened as more cum followed it’s lead. If they were sitting in a puddle before, then they were in a lake now. Veran and Damien’s “contributions” mixed together and ran into the creases in his covers, creating a huge spiraling mess.

 

Damien looked at it all appreciatively, still trying to get his breath back. His flaccid dick dripped as it rested against him, his own hips in desperate need of a wash. Veran sagged against him in a similar state. Damien kissed him and Veran desperately pecked back, trying to get his taste of Damien before he fell asleep. They alternated between gentle and rough, meeting twice in quick succession and holding one for what seemed like minutes. A string of spittle kept them together as they pulled away, lips still close together.

 

“You’re gorgeous Oz,” Veran hummed tiredly, “You’re both gorgeous.”

 

Damien grins toothily, “Bet you didn’t know I could do that could you?”

 

“Fuck no,” Oz and Veran both say at the same time.

 

The later laughed and kissed Oz’s nose.

 

Groaning, he lingered over Oz’s face, “I think that was the first time I’ve been actually inside you in months.”

 

“Me too,” Damien bites his lip, “Lets do it again.”

 

Veran and Oz stop. Looking at him, Veran wiped his face, sweat filling his palm. He flopped down next to Oz.

 

“You can’t mean right now. You can’t. You’re crazy,” He pulls Oz closer in a way that decidedly protective, rubbing both hands over their stomach, “Ozzie I’ll save you from this horny one-horned bastard.”

 

Oz chuckled once. It was all they had the energy for.

 

“No way Damien,” Oz’s eyes drooped as Veran pressed his nose against their neck, “I literally can’t feel anything below my waist right now.”

 

“Of course not now,” Damien wiped at the excess dripping off his length, “Sometime. In the near future. In our room. When my neck doesn’t hurt and _I_ can eat you out. You thought Veran could barely contain himself? I’m going to edge to fuck out of you Oz.”

 

Oz blushed, feeling their thighs twitch. Soreness radiated from the pussy, reminding them that there was no way “near future” was going to be right now. Distracting themself before they could get worked up, Oz patted the space next to them.

 

“I thought this was our room,” They teased.

 

“It is,” Veran pressed up against their bump and Oz turned on their side.

 

Damien wrapped his arms around their waist, “I told you I’m not sleeping in this fucking tie store Veran.”

 

Veran rolled his eyes, “I don’t even wear ties anymore Damien.”

 

Damien’s nose crinkles, “Still smells like one.”

 

“You’re insufferable,” Veran yawned. He blinked slowly until his eye closed and he drifted off to sleep.

 

“Shouldn’t we take a bath?” Oz says half heartedly. They were only barely aware of what they were saying. Sleep was calling to them too.

 

“There’s always time for it later,” Damien took a whiff at the air, “Or maybe just a rinse. I don’t need Veran’s nose to know we smell amazing.”

 

“We smell like cum and sweat Damien,” Oz nudged him.

 

“Fucking exactly,” He used his tail to press his tighter closer to Oz, “And coffee and leather and ink and Veran’s stupid stuffy cologne that mixes with my gasoline somehow and flowers . . .”

 

Oz waited for him to finish. A loud snore vibrated against them. Damien was asleep. Without thinking Oz began to drift off too. Vaguely they remembered Valerie and the LaVeys were probably waiting on them. But they couldn’t summon the energy to get up and excuse the trio for the day. Oz could reschedule. Now they just wanted to close their eyes for the first time without worrying about their ‘unrequited feelings’, how they would deal with The Broken Circle or the two juggernauts they had fallen in love with. They didn’t just want to sleep. They wanted to rest.

 

Oz drifted off with a content sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S THE END BA-BY! Thanks for seeing me through a crazy burst of writing (and all the spelling errors that come with it) only to have to wait to see the final conclusion. If you want to see more of this universe, check out Amira Moves In for more!


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